


Sword of Mercy

by IncreasingLight



Series: In Their Blood [14]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Aveline is hopeless socially, Behind Closed Office Doors, But damn good at her job, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Good People in Bad Situations, Grief/Mourning, Loyalty, Poverty, Refugees, Rising through the ranks, Watching Friends Make Bad Choices, Widowed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 41,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncreasingLight/pseuds/IncreasingLight
Summary: For July's NaNoWriMo Camp.In a short amount of time, Aveline had the Blight take everything from her - her job, her husband, and even her country.  Finding herself in Kirkwall with nothing left but her husband's shield, she discovers that sometimes, starting over isn't the worst thing that could happen.Also, that the worst things always happen to Hawke, no matter how hard she tries to prevent disaster.  Mind, you, sometimes those disasters are of her own making.Aveline's version of Tale of the Champion - her POV, told in first person.





	1. Motion

The first time I met Marian Hawke, I had just slammed my fist into the face of a darkspawn.

Mind you, it ran my husband through.  Violence, though regrettable, was justified.  Even the Chantry recognized the evil inherent – there could be no redemption for the Blighted.

As I pummeled into its face, there came a shout behind me, and with a heated poof, fire consumed my opponent in flame.  I scrambled backwards, barely quick enough to keep from being caught in the conflagration.  All around me, the creatures charred, one by one disintegrating into coals and embers.

A young woman, staff in hand, hissed a warning about my Wesley’s Templar armor, or perhaps the shield that I now held for him, but I barely listened as he responded, "The Order demands..."

"Wesley," I protested, but didn't get to finish.  Hawke and I, we had our own work to do, as one by one, with her brother’s help, we decimated the rest of the monsters.  My sword blurred through the air, whistling and impacting with fleshy thuds as I fought them and my own tears.

I knew it was too late for him.  I wanted to deny it, and couldn't.  Wesley had warned me, when we ran at last; he’d warned me to lock my lips tight against blood spray, lest the Blight take me.

With no other options, we joined them – a motley crew, with two apostates, a sulky young man, their all-but-helpless mother, and me, a Fereldan lady knight who had barely escaped Ostagar, and her dying Templar husband.  We ran together, defeating who we could, outrunning the rest, with my husband’s sword arm useless at his side.  He still fought, guarding my weak side with his shield.

Wesley was like that.  Tender where I was fierce, fortifying where I was vulnerable.

An ogre reached the youngest girl, before I realized.  I was only made aware by the mother’s screams and accusations of her oldest child, “Bethany! How could you let her…” and then Wesley groaned, and stumbled, and my attentions were pulled elsewhere, even while Wesley struggled to offer the Maker’s blessings over her daughter.

An apostate, dead, trying to save a Templar.  The Maker did have a sense of humor.

All too soon we were overwhelmed, our forward – or backward – motion impeded by darkspawn and bandits, fire and one very suspicious looking dragon.  “Well, what have we here?”

Even then, I wasn’t surprised by how a dragon couldn’t phase Hawke.  She stared the dragon woman – a Witch of the Wilds – down, sassing back, even while her own sister lay dead at her feet, while my husband’s own life dripped away into the barren rock that was all that was left of the hills outside Lothering.  I heard her offer to help, and the price of that help – an amulet to be delivered to Dalish elves outside Kirkwall.

Kirkwall was just a place on a map then – a destination as good as any other.  Better than staying here.

But there was another price, one that only I could pay.

My sweet Wesley’s foggy eyes glazed over with the hope of death by my hand.  “You must… please, my love.”

I had never understood Hessarian until that moment, when I ran my husband through with my own sword.  Until he thanked me, dark blood running from those lips I had kissed so many times.  Until I backed away, breaking down with the harsh necessity.  Their mother was still keening over the death of her younger daughter, not aware of the bargain her oldest had struck with a legend.  My own tears were silent.

Mercy is vicious, as well as kind.

I wished then, that I hadn’t listened to my love.  That I had fought, with mouth open, so that death could take me too.

I still fight with my lips locked, breathing hard through my nose.  Sometimes the tears come, even now, and I fight through them, letting out my grief, my rage, my own impotence against the hand Fate dealt me through my sword and shield.

Holy Maker, I’ve used the dwarf’s own words.

Well, shit.  Now I can’t take it back.  

Then again, perhaps my story is overdue, an alternative to Varric’s web of lies.  I could tell you the story of a Hawke turned Champion, and her family, who made me one of them, almost against my will.  I wouldn’t have argued against death, then, with my husband’s blood pooling under his corpse, his veins blackened with the Blight that nearly took him before I could give him the mercy he begged for.

A Templar dead, to save the life of an apostate and their family.  Forget humor, the Maker was ironic.

They pulled me along – the remainder of us united in our grief, as we left our loved ones behind on the battlefield of the Blight.  I clutched Wesley’s shield a little tighter, my own left dug into the earth over his head as the only marker I could leave.  I relished each bashed head, swinging it wildly, long since abandoning precision in favor of ending their sickening lives as soon as possible.  As we left that cursed place, Hawke turned and with a single motion, brought fire down to consume my Wesley’s body – a strange sort of pyre, but an act of kindness I wouldn’t have expected from an apostate.

Flemeth gestured us onward, towards Gwaren, in the West, and we stumbled after her, tear-blind.

Hawke turned to follow the witch directly, but I grasped her arm.  “Thank you.”  The words came stiff, but I was sincere.  Mage or not, “You’re a woman of honor.”

She winked her tears for her sister away.  “Shhh,” she choked.  “Don’t tell anyone.”

It’s past time that I break that promise.  Thedas needs to understand the woman behind the Champion.

And it wouldn't hurt to set the record straight about that damn novel, either.  "Swords and Shields," my Aunt Fanny.


	2. Cool

The spray on the boat from Gwaren was cool against my cheeks.  I couldn’t bear the stifling air below decks, cramped quarters and thick with the scent of the unwashed – of which I could be counted one.  I’d watched Wesley deal with refugees for weeks in Lothering, as they trickled in from outlying farms, with wild sobbing stories of things that leapt from the earth to devour their livestock, and in some cases, whole families.

On the Waking Sea, it was harder to remember, until I closed my eyes.  Then, all I could see was Wesley’s life fading as his eyes glazed over, and his lifeblood – tainted now – drained away into the ashes.

I wasn’t sleeping much.

“Hey,” the apostate leaned up against the rail of the ship and poked me with a bowl.  “I brought you stew.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I didn’t make it.  Carver did.  He’s not completely useless.  He says his campfire was quite popular back at Ostagar, and not just because of his muscles.  Between you and me, I think he’s still a virgin.”  She thrust the bowl in my direction again, and somehow my hands wrapped around it.  “Your Templar would have wanted you to eat.”

I closed my eyes, seeing his face, and lifted the rough spoon to my lips, tasting herbs and lamb.  I lowered it.  “Thank you.”  I didn’t want to be so stiff – but my exposure to mages hadn’t been extensive then.  My, how things change.  “You didn’t have to… you don’t have to feed me.”

“On the contrary,” Hawke whirled around, staring off into the horizon.  “My mother has decided to adopt you.  Lost lambs are her specialty – I should tell you about the baby squirrels she handfed once.”

“I’m not a squirrel.”

Hawke just laughed, “You bite like one.”  Her smile didn’t reach her eyes entirely.  She was still wary of me.  “Look, when we get to Kirkwall-”

“I won’t turn you into the Templars.”

She frowned, “I can take care of myself.”

A hundred-mile journey with a Witch of the Wilds begged to differ, but I merely raised a disbelieving eyebrow and took another bite of stew.  But I owed her that much – with as comfortable as she was carrying her staff in the open, it was only a matter of time until they came for her anyway.  Whether I went any further…

Wesley’s voice echoed in my head.   _ The Order demands… _

She was still talking, “I want you to know you can stay with us, until you find a place.  That’s all.”  She turned away then.  “If you’re still hungry, Carver made plenty.”

I looked down at my bowl, surprised to find it empty, the scraps congealing in the salt spray.

I didn’t have any better offers, that was certain.

“Thank you… Hawke.”

It was, perhaps, the first time I had used the name she preferred.

“Don’t mention it… Aveline.”


	3. Young

When I met Wesley, he was an initiate, and I was… young.  Too young, many said – mostly those who would have preferred me to don a dress and lay down my sword for the sake of my father.

My father had loved my strength and independence.  As had Wesley.  The first time we sparred together, he’d laughed to find himself overwhelmed.

He’d come back the next day, and again, and again, until finally, upon finding himself in the dust once again, merely propped himself up on his elbows and… kissed me.

I’m embarrassed to admit how shocked I was.  It never occurred to me that he was coming back, not for the challenge of the fight, but for  _ me _ .  For the pleasure of my company.  I didn’t think anything would come of it either – I signed up for the King’s army, after my father died, and he… pursued me.  Through his training, through his vows, despite the Chantry’s limitations.  Through my own progress through the ranks.

Wesley always had a way of shocking the duty out of me.  I know what mages think of Templars – no one could spend all the time I have with apostates and not know - but Wesley was different, even after he began to take lyrium.

But when I was young, I didn’t understand that Templars were different from what I was hoping to become – a hero, like Ser Aveline.  I didn’t understand about duty, and peacekeeping.  Mages were a fairytale – one that would keep children up at night, afraid they’d turn out to be one, and be taken away.

The Revered Mother had quickly disabused me of that innocence.  Templars were allowed to marry, she told me – ever so bluntly.  I appreciated bluntness.  But their wives would always share them with the Maker.  They were sworn to serve, to protect the world against the dangers of magic.  It might have been the first time I’d heard the adage, “Magic should serve man, not rule over him,” but it was far from the last.

She’d also told me that children were strictly forbidden to Templars.  I’d snapped back that I didn’t want any.  A simple truth – I was going to be a Lady Knight, after all.  There was no room for children – or shouldn’t be – on the battlefield. 

But on the basis of that blighted conversation, the Revered Mother agreed to marry Wesley and me.  The rest of our short story now rested, along with many others, in ashes outside of Lothering – ended almost before it had begun. Pulled apart by duty, more often separated than together - that was what it meant to marry a Templar.

As we disembarked in Kirkwall, I managed to feel as young and naïve as I had before that memorable confrontation.  Kirkwall was… big.  Bigger than Redcliffe, or Ostagar’s ruins.  Bigger than Denerim.  I resented that, a bit.  Denerim was a crime ridden pit, but at least you knew where you stood there.  Marchers would smile to your face and invade your home an hour later.  

I caught a cutpurse in the first two minutes I was on land, grabbing Lady Leandra’s slim purse back from him, and thrusting him away in the next second.

Hawke’s eyes were on me, weighing carefully.  I could hear her adjusting her ideas of what I was capable of, and wondering what I would do next.

It was hard for me to trust her, too.  I handed the purse back to Leandra, who took it with a shaky hand.  “Thank you, child.”  She went to tuck it back into a pocket.

“Put it down your shift, well into your corset,” I instructed, and blushing, she complied.  “It’s safer there.”

A Guardsman caught my eye, and blinking, I realized he had collared the boy I’d let go just a few minutes earlier.  “You!”  His voice was mellow, kind, and touched with a Fereldan accent that made me ache for home.  “Did this boy take something of yours?”

“I didn’t take nothing!”

“He tried,” Hawke’s voice was drier than toast.  “But our knight in not-so-shiny armor here put a stop to it.”  She genuflected to me, elegant and mocking.  I’d never felt so dirty, in my laced up leather jerkin, with my filthy hair tied back, but the Guardsman’s eyes were kind, and he smiled, crinkling them up at the edges.

“What’s your name, then, Serah?”

“Aveline,” I swallowed, and straightened.  “Aveline Vallen.”

“You’ve got a sharp eye,” the Guardsman pressed his lips together.  “That sword at your hip – it’s of fine make – do you know how to use it?”

I bit back my urge to sass if he knew how to use his.  He was nice - and it wasn’t his fault we were refugees, alone and unwanted.  “I was in Cailan’s army at Ostagar.”  I saw regret flash behind his eyes.  “I served as Captain under Loghain, in the battle, there.”

“My apologies,” his eyes were pained, and he didn’t bother trying to hide his emotion.  “I… I had family there.”

“So did we all,” Leandra spoke, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, politely, before turning back to me.  “Look, I can’t get you into the city, I’m afraid.  But if you manage it, come see me.  The Guard has need of sharp eyes and strong… arms.”  His cheeks colored slightly, and he turned away, but not before stopping to stare at Wesley’s shield.  “Wait – you carry a...  If you’re a Templar, there’s… there’s a chance the Knight Commander would…”

“No.”  I closed my eyes.  “It belonged to my husband.  He’s…” dead, I struggled to say, but it wouldn’t come out.

I couldn’t say it aloud.  It would make it real, too real.

“I’m so sorry,” I opened my eyes, and the Guardsman only showed pity – and a touch of relief.  “Look, the name is Donnic.  Ask for me at the Viscount’s Keep, once you get in, and I’ll see what I can do.”  He glanced at my companions, his eyes lingering on Carver.  “I’d be happy to put a good word in for a fellow Fereldan.  Or two.”

“I’ll remember,” I stored his name away – the first person to be kind to me since we came ashore.  We couldn’t be picky about our friends.  “In the meantime, you don’t mean to charge the lad, do you?”

“Him?” He’d seemed to forget that he was still holding the boy by his collar.  “Depends on the lady.”

Leandra’s eyes were still glazed with grief, but she shook her head.  “No harm done.  And… I suppose he’s in the same place we would be, if it weren’t for my family.”

Donnic glanced at our party again, “Are you… nobles?”  I could see on his face that we didn’t look it.  How could we, after spending a week and a half in the filthy hold of a rat infested ship?

“My family has a estate here,” Leandra smiled for the first time.  “Perhaps you know my brother – Gamlen Amell?”

Donnic shook his head, “Sorry, milady, I don’t.  I’ll ask around, back at the barracks, though.  For now, I’ll get this urchin back to his people, what’s left of them.”  He turned and walked away, and I turned back as well.

“So, now what?”  I had never taken much stock in my own nobility – and I knew there was no point in trying to trade on Templar courtesy in Kirkwall.  I’d heard things, even then, about the Knight Commander, from my Wesley.

“We wait for Gamlen,” Leandra settled herself like a lady on a step, crossing her ankles and everything.  I remained unimpressed, and from the looks of things, so did her daughter.  “He’ll come, and then we’ll all go home.”

In my naivety, I believed her.  Then.


	4. Last

Donnic came back the next week, with a smile, and half a loaf of bread.  “Thought you might be a bit… you know,” he shrugged, and I divided the bread – freshly baked – into fourths for my companions.

“It is hard to get good service down here,” Hawke cracked.  “You’d think Kirkwall had never heard of catering.”

Donnic laughed, and his eyes twinkled.  “I told my mates about you,” he admitted, meeting our eyes.  “One of them had heard of a Gamlen, but he’s a no-account degenerate thrown out of the Blooming Rose every other night.  He said he’d see if he was the one you were looking for, though.”

I could guess the nature of the Blooming Rose – I was Fereldan, not sheltered.

Luckily, perhaps, Leandra wasn’t paying attention – her thoughts often drifted in those days, as we all processed our grief in different ways.  Hawke’s defenses were either violent or humorous – she was as changeable as the tides.  Carver was just surly, as always.

“Thank you,” I offered instead.  Over the last few days, the dock area had emptied somewhat – we were some of the last of our ship remaining, other than those who’d been there for what looked like ages, setting up semi-permanent camps in the more private corners.  “Tell me,” I hesitated, “were the lad’s parents glad to see him?”

Donnic hesitated, looking at Leandra, and then jerked his head to the side, meaning for me to walk with him.  “No,” he admitted at last, when I followed.  “They’d… they’d sent him out to… see what he could find.  Angry, that he came back with nothing.  Desperation, I’m afraid, is nothing new here.”

“Oh,” my voice was flat.  “I see.”

“I’m keeping an eye on him, though, milady.”  His eyes looked hollow, and I wondered if he’d had any of the bread himself, or if it was just overwork.

“I’m no lady, Guardsman, and I’m younger than you are.”

“No, but you’re a widow.”  He ran his fingers through his soft-looking hair, “and my Mam would have my hide if I treated you with less than respect.”  His eyes squinted at my arms again, and then at my sword.  “And I suspect you could kick my arse, and I’d thank you for it after.”  His smile was back again.  It was good to see a friendly face.

“Your mother is here?” Incredulous, I stared at the walls of the city beyond us, the implied compliment over my head.  It was hard to comprehend entire families living within the city, barred to us, for now as distant as Ferelden itself.

“On the high edge of Lowtown.”  He pointed to where the walls separated Hightown from Lowtown.  Lowtown was newer, then, and poorer.  “She made the bread.  Tells me that you can’t trust these foreign bakers to make a good beer bread.  Says it would probably taste like fruit, when they were done with it.”

I hadn’t touched mine, but I took a bite then.  “It’s… good,” I swallowed, with difficulty.  My mouth was dry – even water was hard to come by.  “Thank her.”

“Oh, if I tell her I shared, I’ll have twice as much tomorrow, and that only ends with me losing my girlish figure,” he laughed.  “That’s my Mam.  She likes to take care of people.”

“I could pay you,” I offered, my hands already creeping to my purse, secreted away under my belt, tied securely.  “Or her.  We don’t have much, but…”

His hands covered mine, and I jerked slightly at the warmth of his touch.  “Don’t give me the last of your coin, Aveline.”  His eyes were grave.  “You’ll need it, before long.”  His gaze drifted to Hawke, whose staff shouted ‘Apostate!’ as if she were standing on the rooftops.  “My mother is well cared for.”

I nodded, and we both let our hands fall away.

“I should go,” he twisted his neck around.  “Officially, I’m on patrol down the docks.  Just thought I’d check, see if your uncle had shown his face.”

“Not my uncle,” I corrected.  “Theirs.  I’m just… a friend of the family.”

Donnic nodded and left, then, but his time, I watched him leave.  Thinking.

A Guardsman life could be a good one, and I was done with serving kings.  Perhaps… perhaps there could be a place for me, here, after all.

But first, I had to get into the city.  And I couldn’t go without Hawke.  We’d been through too much together – death, and loss, and hardship.  I hated that everything hinged on this ghost of an uncle, but…

I didn’t have a choice.  I turned on my heel, and returned to the family, aware of Hawke’s knowing eyes upon me.  I shook my head at her and took my seat.  “It’s nothing.”

No point in worrying them.


	5. Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but I live in a place where the phrase 'Make hay while the sun shines' means no one ever sleeps in summer. So now I'm exhausted, with a head cold, and am being forced to slow down while I heal.

“What do you mean, the estate is gone?”

“It’s over and done, Leandra,” The Amell uncle – Gamlen - was nearly as dirty as us, and unshaven.  No noble this, to get us into the city.  “You need gold.  Now.”

I managed not to let my lip curl, and to keep silent as the siblings bickered, with the occasional comment from Carver and Hawke.  Family arguments were none of my business – and I wasn’t going to let anyone take on debt on my behalf.  Finally, Hawke intervened.  “What do you propose, Uncle, if we can’t leave Kirkwall?”

“I have… contacts.  A mercenary, and a smuggler.”  I saw the hope drain from Hawke’s face, to be replaced with blind determination.  “If you work for them – for a year, no more – then they’ll pay your way into the city.”  He gave further details, when asked, skirting how he knew these people.  I found myself more interested in the mercenary – smuggling was an ugly business, with little justification to be found for breaking the law.  

“What do you think?” Hawke asked Carver and I.  Her brother gave a flippant reply.

“If I have to work with someone shady, it might as well be the this ‘Meeran’,” I murmured to her.

Hawke seemed to agree, after talking to the smuggler.  (I’m relieved, as three years later I picked her up for breaking import laws.)  Meeran explained the Red Iron to us – as if we were green recruits instead of seasoned fighters.  

We marched off to ‘prove ourselves’, but I pulled at her arm.  “Hawke - a moment?”

She stopped, staff in hand.  “Aveline?”

“You need…” I glanced around us, and drew us further beneath the pillars, into the shadows.  “Look, this isn’t Lothering.”

“Right…” she drawled.  “I had noticed, actually.”

I winced, “You can’t just use magic, openly, within the walls of a mage prison.”  I pointed to the Guardsmen, constantly patrolling.  “You’re already breaking the law, just being free.”

Her gaze grew hard, “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying… keep it… subtle,” I gritted out.  “No fire.  Short of an enchanted sword, no mercenary lights their opponents up like Satinalia fireworks.”

She blinked, frowning.  “I - I could just use the blade?”  She chewed her lower lip, nervously.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I rushed to clarify.  “Shocks are largely invisible, as long as you don’t make them rain from the sky.”

Her eyes cleared, even as her hands tightened around her staff.  “Right, I can do that.”

“Good.”  I relaxed, a little.  “Let’s go find this Friedrich, then.”

Finding Friedrich was too easy - and resulted in Hawke, cleverly, I thought, trying to bargain with our target to pay our way into the city.  If it had only worked.

But she failed, and a body lay dead on the stones before us far too soon.  The Guardsmen constantly patrolling had never even looked our way.  I shook, after, not from the blood, but from the reasons behind what we’d just done.  Yes, he’d attacked us first, knowing Meeran had sent us.  But there had to be a better way.

This is what we were, now.  Refugees, with no better options than committing murder in exchange for a work permit.  I was glad, that day, that my new acquaintance wasn’t patrolling the Gallows.  I wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye.

Someday, perhaps, I would never again take a life without a trial, without trying to uphold the law.

Hawke, however, was a different woman than I.

With different reasons.  As an apostate, she wouldn’t have been able to pick and choose which laws to obey – very probably she’d had to make this choice already – attack or be attacked.  She had, at least, waited for them to draw their weapons first.

I glanced back at the Guardsmen, firmly not looking this direction.

Carver merely sighed and sheathed his greatsword.  “Are we done here?  Meeran probably wants us to report back.”

Hawke jerked, as if she was snapping back from a memory.  “And there’s Mother to think about.  Let’s get her to Gamlen’s.”  She scuffed her boot against the stones, wiping blood off the soles, I assume.  “Preferably before we draw Templar attention.  I’m ready to get out of the Gallows.  For good.”

I looked up at the massive prison gates, believing I understood how she felt.

I owe Hawke an apology for that.  I had no idea what she’d been through just to survive.  But I would find out, soon enough.

Meeran told us to get settled, and to meet him at the docks the next day.

From there, we were rarely home – the Red Iron traveled all over the Marches.  Leandra would greet us with scolds and weak tea – fussing about Carver being gone for so long at a time.  Hawke spent her down time trying to buy food that her uncle couldn’t barter for drink or sell for coin.  He emerged as a hopeless gambler and drunk, to no one’s surprise but Leandra’s.

It was better not to be there, to watch the two of them argue and Leandra beg to understand what had happened.  I heard enough, when I was.  The Amells – an old family, but one with magic in their line.  A sister, Revka, who eloped, pregnant, and was never seen or heard from again.  The family assumed that the child died.  I wondered, though – Wesley had mentioned a Solona Amell in the Kinloch Circle, who had tried to help a blood mage escape, and had been made Tranquil, right before the Blight began.  By all accounts, it was a tragedy – the First Enchanter had lost his most promising student with her.

I decided not to mention it to Hawke.  Family was becoming a sore point.  She was sick of her mother trying to dredge up the past, wishing aloud that she would just deal with the present.  Carver was no help, that was certain.  He chafed at taking orders from anyone – even Meeran, who paid our salaries.  He spent his time with the worst of the other Red Iron mercs - getting into trouble that Meeran soon wouldn’t be able to fish him out of.

As the time of our indentured servitude grew short, Hawke withdrew from her family, and spent hours staring into the flames in the grate.

I hoped she had a plan.

I certainly did – but my plan couldn’t help her.


	6. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Probably will be the last chapter I post today. I think.

“I can’t go with you,” I repeated to Hawke, firmly.  “I have a job now, with regular hours.  I can’t just… up and leave, when it suits my fancy.  I’ll help you – hire you, even, to fill in around the edges where the Guard can’t reach, but…” I shook my head.  “I can’t follow you into the Deep Roads.  Not this time.”  The barracks’ mess was empty, for now.  My move to the Keep had been easy - though my neighbors and landlord were sorry to see me go.  But still - sound carried here.  It was best to be circumspect.

The lines on Hawke’s face aged her.  “But Mother’s been at me not to take Carver – accusing me of stealing her last child away… I need you at my back, Aveline.  I can’t trust anyone else.”

“What are you, chopped liver?” I nearly snarled, checking myself with difficulty, and dropping my voice.  “If you need a shield that… knows about you, perhaps Meeran could recommend…”

She shuddered, and I wondered what was behind that response.  “I can’t go crawling back to him now, Aveline.  I can’t.”  Her eyes were shadowed.  The jobs she’d been taken on – when I was left behind – what had they involved to make her look like that?  “He told me I’d be back in a fortnight.  It’s been only a week and a half.”

She sounded like she’d left an abusive relationship, not indentured servitude.  I hoped it hadn’t come to that - Meeran wasn’t above blackmail.  I sighed, “I could ask around the barracks…”

“No, it’s alright.”  She straightened, staring around her, worriedly.  “Just… don’t tell Carver he isn’t coming.  I can’t deal with his whining, not now.”  She swallowed, and I shoved my jug of tea at her.  She smiled, and drank, wiping her mouth with her hand.  “We are still on for your job on the Coast, right?  I need the money.”

She always needed money.  “Wouldn’t miss it.”  I managed a smile.  “It’ll feel good to make a difference.  I can’t take many more of these dead patrols.”

She sighed, “Must be nice.  I can’t even cross Hightown at night without being attacked by Carta.”

“Is that who they are?  I thought it was just gangs,” I rolled my neck.  “You’d best get going, Hawke. Put up fliers, or something, to recruit?  You could vet people that way – and once they’re in the Deep Roads, they’d be fools to ditch you just for being... what you are.”

Hawke pursed her lips and nodded.  “In the meantime, I’d better go and see what that dwarf wants back in Lowtown.  He had a possible lead for me.  Can’t afford not to check it out, even if Kirkwall is swarming with people trying to kill me.  I’ll be seeing you, Guardsman.” She waved herself out, and I let myself sag against the wall for a moment before straightening and checking the roster again.  Same old patrol.  I stood up and followed her.  “Hawke, wait.  You shouldn’t go to Lowtown at night alone.  I’ll go with you.”

I watched her face light up, “Thank you, Aveline.”

“It’s hardly out of my way.”  I hurried to catch up with her.  “What are friends for?”

“Varric’s just outside,” she enthused.  “With Carver.”

“Are you anticipating trouble?”

“Don’t I always?”

I couldn’t help but laugh, “True enough.”  I let my mind wander back to the job I’d contracted her for.  “Leave the trouble behind, when we go on my job, will you?”

“Why, Aveline, I thought you hated boredom?”

I prayed, silently, that this time, it would be different.  Hawke bent the rules – and broke them – all the time.  Surely, if I did it this once, it wouldn’t matter?  Especially for such a good reason?

I should have known better.

A trap – again – I was getting used to them.  The dwarf that had hired us was supposed to be luring someone else to the Alienage.  And of all things, Tevinter slavers ambushed us.

It was incomprehensible, until an elf, glowing like molten silver, stepped out of the shadows.

I could hear the gears in Hawke’s head turning over and around as we followed him to his former master’s estate.  He fought well enough through the gangs that really did seem to descend upon Hawke as if they were holding a grudge. 

As we approached the mansion, it was apparent to me that no one had lived there for some time.  The cracked and missing tiles, the dust and spiderwebs in every corner, the furniture tipped over – but Fenris seemed convinced the man should be there – and there were certainly demons enough that the man had left behind.  The elf cut Shades and Rage down without hesitation – and I found myself more than impressed with his skill.

Fenris’ desire for vengeance was strong – but he’d experienced unspeakable things.  No one could deny that.  And somehow, I trusted him.  We fought back to back as Hawke took on an Arcane Horror – the last little present his master had left him.  I didn’t need to meet him to recognize Danarius as a horrible man.

I felt to my bones that Hawke had found the muscle she needed for the Deep Roads.  Even if he hated mages – he still admitted that she didn’t seem the bad sort.  And she didn’t hold back in such a private fight, either.  “Not all mages are the same, Fenris,” I found myself saying.  He looked wary.

She didn’t need prompting to make the offer, and he accepted, with what might have been eagerness, for him, at least.

We weren’t the only people struggling to survive in Kirkwall.  And I felt better knowing Hawke would be safe.

As safe as could be, in the Deep Roads.

Assuming that she managed to talk the Grey Warden into giving her what she needed. And found the money. And convinced her brother that he had to stay behind.

Hopefully, she wouldn’t need me for that conversation.


	7. Wrong

I still don’t understand how Hawke managed to rope me in to her messes – except that she was so desperate for help, any help, that I couldn’t refuse.  Wesley would have accused me of being a soft touch, for someone so scary.

Utter nonsense.

But somehow that night, even after a long dull day, I managed to find myself in the Chantry, standing before a Tranquil, with a Grey Warden abomination-turned-healer.  My head spun, as it turned out to be yet another trap, though not for us, for once, and Hawke was forced to kill Templars and make a run for it with her new friend.

She’d dropped Anders at his clinic, spoke privately for a few minutes, and we left, together, her rather pensive, and gripping her satchel like it was full of gold, instead of parchment.

It was early, and the city gangs were out in full force, so I walked her home – I had no doubt she could take care of herself, but if I was in front of her, her attackers might question the source of the lightning shocking their stones.  In those days, we always made sure she had backup – Templars were always watching. 

And her new friend wouldn’t help take the focus off her… talents.

I didn’t bother to mince words, once we were well and truly alone. “He’s an abomination.”

“We needed those Deep Roads maps.”  Her hand still covered her satchel.  “And he doesn’t look so abominable to me.  Besides, wasn’t it you that said, ‘not all mages are the same?’”  She pretended to think. “Yes, it was – when we met Fenris, wasn’t it?”

The tattooed elf was the least of our worries.  “Anders is the sort the Chantry warns you about.”

“Aw, Aveline, I didn’t know you cared!  Even Mother hasn’t given me the ‘take care of yourself first’ talk.”  Despite her facetious tone, Hawke closed her eyes, “But he’s Fereldan, and poor, and doing good work in Darktown.  He needs help, because he’s too busy helping other people that are even worse off.  Surely that’s worth something?”

“I’m a woman, Hawke.  I recognize that… look.  He’s already smitten with you.”  She’d been closeted with him for a good half hour, and she emerged with her cheeks glowing.  But his eyes were soft, and his mouth was smiling, his body language relaxed despite his friend’s death.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’d been caboodling.

None of my business.  Hawke opened the door to Gamlen’s home, and I could hear the snores from her brother and uncle through the paperthin walls.  Hawke swung their kettle over the fire, as I nodded.

“There… might have been a compliment or two, but he didn’t mean anything by them,” she admitted, facing the fire, and letting the glow warm her cheeks.   She prepped our cups, and sat next to me at the rough table with uneven legs.  “You must tell me more about this look?  Pray, is it anything like how your Guardsman looks at you?”  She propped her chin on her elbows and batted her eyelashes.  “Do tell.”

“Don’t be an ass.”  I gathered my things, ready to leave.

She shook her head and laughed.  “Come, Aveline, I don’t see it, myself – but neither do you.  Let’s call it even.  Sit down, and have a cup.  I’d buy you a cider, but… funds are low.”

“It’s nearly dawn, and I’m on duty in an hour!”

“Thus the cider, and not an ale.”  Her smile was warm, and I could see she thought she’d deflected my worries successfully.  I firmed my jaw, and the smile faded, “I’m… not interested in Anders, if that’s what you’re worried about, Mother.”

“What about Isabela?”  Varric’s tavern haunt was introducing her to a dubious spread of people, that was for certain.  Hawke was drinking too much on other people’s coppers.

She hesitated, before shaking her head.  “Her, either.  I can’t always avoid trouble, but I do recognize it when it sidles up and ropes me into a duel at midnight.”  Her eyes creased, worried.  “They’re both trouble, but Anders’ situation is harder for me to dismiss.  Isabela is just another job.”

“Because you think he’s right.  About mages, I mean.” I rubbed my forehead, tight after the long day and night I’d put in.  “Hawke, I know you’re tired of me asking – but when are you going to deliver that damn amulet to the Dalish?”  The debt weighed on both of us – who knew what a Witch of the Wilds would do, if we didn’t follow through with our end of the bargain?  I didn’t put much stock into the old tales of toads, but…

Her shoulders hunched, “I’ll go on Tuesday.”  She looked up, guilt written on every line of her face.  “You are free, that day, right?”

I nodded, mentally writing off my one day off.  So much for my late morning appointment with a cuppa in the barracks… the room and board the Guard offered had made my life far more comfortable and convenient.  “We’ll finish this together, like we started.”

Her smile brightened, “Thanks, Aveline.  Varric will come along, I’m sure of it.  Perhaps I’ll even ask Anders.  He needs to get out more.”  The water boiled, and she turned to fetch it, with an almost worn-through teatowel to keep the handle from burning her.

I was getting dizzy from lack of sleep, and breathed the now steeping leaves deeply, hoping they’d invigorate me for my long walk uphill. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why ever not?”

“He’s harboring a spirit of Justice.  And we’re visiting the  _ Dalish.”  _ Who had possibly been more wronged than any people in history, whatever the Chantry said.

She blinked twice, “Oh.”  She frowned, “But if we find trouble with the Dalish, I can’t heal a shit.”

“Then take more muscle.”

She nodded, slowly, “Mother has been complaining about me corrupting Carver, but he’s alive because of Flemeth, too.  I’ll see if he’s free.”

I finished my tea and my farewells and let myself out, all my senses on alert as I made my way back to my bunk.  Nothing happened on the way to the Keep, and I let myself in just as the sun came up over the wall.

My pillow and mattress called to me – but I had to be on duty in a short amount of time.  It would feel amazing tonight – I hated to admit it, but my back hurt now and again after a long day.

I headed to the mess, instead – swinging the dented copper teakettle over the fire to boil for another cup – Hawke’s leaves had been weak, and mixed overmuch with mint for my liking.  I sliced some cheese, and then some bread spread with a little of the stoneground mustard I liked.  My body relaxed – the barracks felt a little like a home.

I liked the barracks.  The place was full of gossiping mouths and spying hands, but I’d found peace, here, in shared duty.  Even companionship.  Here, I could count on clean sheets, and if my food tonight was spartan, well, I could count on a better one when the Guards that were on kitchen duty started their work.

I frowned, realizing my good fortune.  Hawke – and Anders, and Fenris – didn’t have the option of having their meals provided.  I suppressed my guilt, with difficulty.  It wasn’t like I could recommend them to the Guard – we were overseen by the Templar Knight Commander.  Hawke and Anders’ magic would have been discovered in a day.  Anders would be Tranquil in less than a fortnight.  Fenris… I sighed.  My superior officer would already have returned him – with compliments – to Danarius.

I was doing what I could, paying Hawke a contractor’s fee for odd jobs and bounties.

My stomach still twisted around my meal, tight as my fist clenched around my tea mug, but I was trying to make things right.

Surely that had to count for something?

The door creaked, Donnic, yawning and stretching, wandered in, and plopped himself down next to me.  “Enough water for me?”

I gestured towards the mugs on the shelf.  “Help yourself.”  His hair was still tousled from sleep.  I curled my fingers tighter around the mug, resisting the urge to smooth it.  I was a lieutenant now – I couldn’t mother him.

“Up all night again, were we?”  He scooped his tealeaves into a strainer, added more sugar than should be legal, and poured the water over the top of the lot.  He settled next to me at the table, his body too warm for comfort.  “Are you going to tell me about him?”

I choked on my tea, sputtering.  “Don – Guardsman!”  My cheeks were hot, and I tried to hide them with another sip.  “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“…then why are you out all night when you don’t have to be?”  He shook his head, “Aveline, I… I wouldn’t judge.  It’s been near a year.  Surely your man would have understood?”

“It’s not a man, it’s…” I hesitated, and then leaned forward, abandoning my rank, for a moment.  “Donnic, I would tell you, if I could.”  Surely, he already knew?  “But it’s Hawke’s life.  And her secret.”

His brows creased, the lines between deepening.  “She’d better not hurt you.”

“It’s not like that,” I stressed, sweating now.  The tea wasn’t that hot.  “She’s a friend.”

“A friend that keeps you out all night,” he stirred his tea, unnecessarily.  “Aveline, you…” he sighed, “I wish you’d trust me.”

“I do,” I covered his hand with mine, and let it linger, a little too long.  “With my life.”

That made him smile, and he was… far too attractive when he did, his eyes sparkling, and his lips soft-looking as they twisted ruefully.  “All right, I’ll take it.”  He winked and stood up.  “Who’s on breakfast duty today, anyway?”

“You are,” I drawled.  “Get to it, Guardsman.”

“Aye, Lieutenant.”  He saluted, and bowed in his chair, only to lift his mug of tea.  “After I’ve finished my cuppa.”


	8. Fool

“He’s a Brother in the Chantry, Hawke.”  The man in question was elegant in impractical white armor, I admit, even if he wasn’t my type.  Not rugged enough – and if Donnic, with his casual grin and sideburns, and dented armor well cared for, popped into my head, he was just as easily dismissed.

“I know,” her voice was too casual for her not to be chastising herself.  “It’s a sin he’s so… pretty.”

“He answers to a higher calling than lust.”

With that, she winced, “I’m not a fool, Aveline.  I have a great deal of experience coping with my urges.  Mages tend to.”

“Then act like it,” I tried to make my voice – usually commanding – kind.  “You’d do best to keep your distance.  Make it easier on… both of you.”  I was familiar with the way certain eyes would focus, and then get forced away from where they shouldn’t linger.  Working and living with Donnic in the close quarters of the barracks had only made it harder – and changing my schedule to be the opposite of his hadn’t helped.  I hadn’t been able to resist coming in early, and staying late, to catch him coming and going.  I was no better than my friend, who had brought us to the Chantry to listen to this redheaded Brother say the Chant.  “I would never have thought you’d find the Maker in a pretty pair of eyes.”

“Who says I have?” her smile was guilty.

“Your very presence in this institution,” I knelt and genuflected before Our Lady, murmuring Trials for Wesley before lighting a candle in his memory.  “Why else would an apostate come here?  Especially after the busy hours?  It looks… suspicious.  And you stand out.”  She did the same for her father and Bethany, slurring the words she didn’t know as well as I did.  I might have heard something about bacon beyond the Fade… but it was the intention that mattered, surely.

“I have a reason, Aveline.”

“Oh, are you attending confession?  You certainly have your pick, don’t you?” We both did. But I hadn’t been to confession since Ostagar.

“I’m here to - to meet someone.” she glanced around her, lowering her voice.  “Isabela’s duel is tonight, in an hour.  I thought it would be easier this way.”

I groaned, “Hawke…”

Her lips were tight.  “You know I need the money for the trip.”

“Am I supposed to believe that you ogling the pretty Brother is just icing on the tiny cake?”

She made a face, “You know me too well.”

“If you’re dueling tonight, when are we going to deliver the damn pedant to the Dalish?”

“…we’re still going tomorrow.  Mother’s health is delicate – I can’t just up and leave on a whim, and I’ve made our excuses already, and lined up one of Gamlen’s neighbors to check on her.”

If her mother was delicate, I was a necromancer, but I let it go.  Her mother was all too good at playing on Hawke’s feelings of inadequacy and her own role as victim.  “Fine.”  I was possibly a little too curt.  “At least it’s just us.”

“…about that,” She sounded guilty again, and her foot was twisting.  I wasn’t any good at Wicked Grace, but it wasn’t because I couldn’t read tells.

“Hawke…”

“Anders is coming.  And Varric.”  As if the dwarf made it better?

I couldn’t help it, I groaned, too loud for the quiet hush of the building.  “You brought – him - into this?  You know how he feels about the Chantry… the last time we were here,  _ he killed his lover! _ ”

“I don’t pick locks, and I can’t heal worth a damn!  If I could, maybe my Da wouldn’t have…” she stopped, as she always did when talking about her father.  “Look, are you with me or not?”

“Why the Void should we have to pick a lock in the Chantry?!”  She shrugged, and I sighed, resigned, as always, “I’m with you.”  If nothing else, tonight’s escapades would give me something to talk to Donnic about the next day.  He was adept at helping me cover up for Hawke’s little… indiscretions.  Nothing illegal, just making it easier for her to exist on the right side of the law.  He laughed off what I would have scolded about – and sometimes made me laugh, too.

I hadn’t told him she was a mage.  I kept telling myself it wasn’t my secret.  But it weighed on me.  Would he be so willing to help, if he knew?

But the duel was nothing to laugh at.

“This is your second murder in the Chantry in a week!”  I hissed to Hawke afterward.

“And third, and fourth, and…” she counted bodies, seeming unconcerned.  I knew her better than that.  “I think it’s more like… fifteen?”

“You’ve got to stop dragging me into these things!”

“I didn’t know it would end like…”

“You knew it was a duel!  People die in duels!  You knew you were supposed to watch Isabela’s back!”

“It’s not like it’s hard,” the woman in question quipped.  I ignored her, with extreme difficulty.

“The Chantry is supposed to be a place of peace, and comfort!”  I waved all around us at the blood on the tiles, mixing with the wax of the red candles.  “How is this comforting?”

Anders snorted, but didn’t put his thoughts into words.  Something about mages hardly being comforted, I had no doubt.

“Don’t sweat it, Aveline,” Varric sighed.  “I’ll put my people on it, it’ll be right as rain in a few hours.”

I pointed at him, “You are part of the problem, dwarf.  Before she met you-”

“I had to count on dragon witches to fish me out of trouble,” Hawke had found her wits again.  “Aveline, they attacked us first.”

“They always attack you first!”  I threw my hands up in the air.  “It’s always ‘I was just defending myself!’.”  I slumped down onto a bench that was only slightly hit by the arterial spray.  “Maker’s Breath, Hawke?  What are you getting yourself into?”  And why was I following?

She couldn’t answer.  None of us could, so, I merely stood back up, and headed to the door.  “I have work.”

“You have tomorrow off.  The Dalish, remember?”

I closed my eyes, only to reopen them immediately.  “Right.  I need… I need to sleep, though.  How long will it take, to get to Sundermount?”  Catching Hawke’s eyes, I felt even more guilty.  “It’s all right.  Come for me in the morning.  I’ll be ready.”

As I dragged myself back to my door – letting Hawke brave the gangs with Varric and Anders alone, for once – I wasn’t prepared for Donnic to be sitting on the stairs to the barracks.  “What now?”  I groaned, and let us both into my chamber, forgoing the convenient mess for a little privacy.  My small grate would still make me a cup of tea.

“I heard rumors there was fighting at the Chantry tonight.”  His face was grave.  “Word from above was to avoid the area, so that the Guard didn’t escalate a volatile situation, but… you weren’t here to get the news.”  He stared at my armor.  “You’re covered with blood, Aveline.”  My silence was wordier than Genetivi.  “You weren’t on the roster for tonight.  What’s happened?”

I wanted to fall apart, but instead, I put the kettle on, and started removing my armor.  “I was… helping a friend of Hawke’s.”

“This friend…” Donnic paused, “she doesn’t happen to be a sailor, does she?”

I dropped my mug, and it broke.  “What do you know?”  I waved him to my lone chair, while I grabbed a broom to hide the shaking hands.

“If her name starts with an I… you’d best steer clear,” he’d failed to sit.  “Aveline, I… look, I don’t want you to lose your job.  Smuggling, theft, assassinations – there are even whispers that she’s part of the reason the Qun are holed up in Lowtown.”

“How would Isabela be tied up with the Qun?”

He found a half smile, “All sorts of people are joining.  Even the Viscount’s son.”

“Isabela would be the last person ever to find the Qun attractive.”  I thought for a moment, and capitulated, "The Arishok, maybe.  I don't think she really has a type."

“I’m only telling you what I hear.  I hear… a lot.”  He drew a little closer, not touching me, but close.  “Stay safe, Aveline.  I don’t want you to get hurt.”  I could feel the heat coming off on him, and it was only with difficulty that I didn’t reach out and hold him.

I was cold – colder than the humid night warranted.  “I’ll… I’ll tell Hawke to be careful.”

“Good.”  He stepped away, his cheeks flushed.  “I’ll let you get some rest, then.  You’re hiking out to the Sundermount today, aren’t you?”

I nodded and wrapped my arms around myself.  “I appreciate that.”

He tilted his head, as if he wanted to say more, but then shook his head, and opened the door, and closed it.  I crossed the room to lock the door to my quarters, leaning my head against it, as if I could call him back just by wishing.

It had only been a month of being a lieutenant, but I was already tired of being alone at night.

At least in the main barracks, when I laid awake, I could hear other people breathing.  It was easier that way to remember that I, at least, was still alive.


	9. Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for mention of kidnapping, child abuse, and insanity. Be safe.

Returning the amulet to the Dalish, was over and done by sunset the next day.  Flemeth – or Asha’Bellanar, or the Witch of the Wilds, or whoever she was calling herself these days – was resurrected, no harm done.  It was a relief – another debt from our survival paid, and now I didn’t have to think about it any longer.

I didn’t want to think about it any longer.  Some magic should stay hidden, if you ask me.

And my share may have been over, but Hawke’s consequences of her bargain continued, as she had yet another mage to look after.  I began to think she was collecting them – worse all the time.  She’d helped Merrill find a place to live in the Alienage, introduced her to Varric, and made sure she wasn’t going to get mugged in her first day in her new home.

And Hawke called me ‘Mother’?  I wouldn’t have been so kind.

So perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d requested my presence on the Wounded Coast looking for a missing Circle prisoner – hired by a Magistrate to return him to safety.

Normally this sort of situation would have been brought to the Guard’s attention by the Knight-Captain, or even the Knight-Commander herself, but for some reason, this was different.  I had watched the magistrate’s body language and suspected some deeper connection.

I had no evidence and held off my accusations.  Many people didn’t bother to come to the Guard, after all - I could have been misreading the situation.

I was not expecting a distraught elven father outside our destination, who hadn’t been able to get the Guard to take him seriously.  It hurt, to see the mistrust in my uniform from those who needed us most.

We’d entered the ruins, and found the elf girl Keldar had kidnapped.  The girl had been sent back to her father, the ruins empty now that we’d killed all in her path.  She’d be safe enough.

Brave girl, that Lea.  I quite liked her.

The man before me was quite a different matter.  He huddled in his luxurious velvet misery as if he was something that should be pitied, as he explained that his father was the magistrate.

Disgusting.

Not just his actions – though those were despicable – but also because he had the audacity to try to blame them on magic.  On elves being graceful and elegant.  As if his existence was excusable because  _ demons _ told him to do it.  His excuses for the horrors he’d committed multiplied by the minute.  I wished that Hawke would just stop talking to him.  Completely.  If she didn’t, I was going to be sick.

There was no way a Templar could have subjected him to the myriad of tests and trials they had at their disposal at the Gallows without knowing, for certain, that this man was as mundane as I was.  They’d known, then, what he was, and he’d been allowed to go free.

Knight-Commander Meredith had something to answer for.  Unless, she had told the Guard Captain and-

My lip curled, my bile rose.  There was no justification for it.  Jevan, the Guard-Captain, was… not a good officer, but he was my superior.  I knew for a fact if Hawke let this man go back to the Gallows, or back to his father, that Jevan would allow it.

And then more elven children would die. 

Serving under Jevan was becoming more intolerable by the minute.  Being accountable to the Guard Captain should have been better than serving Meeran.  Instead, it seemed like the same old sins – just on a larger scale.

I exchanged a glance with Hawke, “Hawke, if you don’t… I will.” and she nodded.

The man was the scum of Thedas.  He deserved to feel every inch of her staff blade.

I wouldn’t let myself look away while she ran him through.  I needed to remember that this was the opposite of justice – allowing the guilty to live without consequences, because of connections and money and race.  Even being some sort of vigilante was better than the substitute offered by Jevan and his constant ‘look away or we’ll get sucked into something messy’ procedures.

I still felt sick just looking at him, but Hawke took the time to incinerate his body.

She was so careful about the possibility of undead.  Or perhaps… it was just to cover the evidence?  But how could either of us consider our actions a crime?  We could, at least, have returned the man’s body to his father…

We tromped back to the entrance, my heart as heavy as my feet, and while Hawke spoke to the girl’s father, I propped myself up on the ruin’s entrance, dizzy to the point of nausea with my thoughts.

Was I no better than the magister, letting Anders stay free?  Letting Hawke live outside the Gallows?  Was I just as guilty, thinking I knew what was best for Kirkwall, and for them?  But that the Knight Commander could pass off this man as less of a threat than my friends…

My friends killed people.  A lot of people: Carta, slavers, people who would never change, no matter how many chances they were given to redeem themselves.  Surely we were better than this husk of a man who killed innocent children for being beautiful?

I watched Hawke kneel down and explain to the little girl that her nightmare was over, watched the girl protest, and weep for her abuser, the poor confused child.  Anders knelt as well, checking her for injuries, and healing them while she was distracted – all without touching her.

He would never ask a cent in recompense.

Anders was a better man by far than my Guard Captain.  And yet one lived in Darktown and struggled to eat, and the other in a mansion in Hightown and grew fatter by the day.

With that, I couldn’t see what I continued to do as a bad thing.  I couldn’t.  I was protecting a healer for the poorest people – the untouchables - and Hawke was already a shining light of hope in the darkest places of the city. 

Not for the first time, I reflected how well-suited they were for each other – if only…

I sighed.  There was no accounting for taste, and while Anders glowed like a beacon around Hawke, she had eyes only for the blighted ginger Brother.  And she – like half the young women that haunted the Chantry – only ogled him from afar.  She knew how inappropriate it was, probably better than I did.

Perhaps everyone in Kirkwall was simply mad.

At least we were in good company.  We escorted the girl and her father back to the city and went to confront the magistrate.  As he cursed Hawke for the death of his son, she took it, her face as hard as stone.

“You did right,” I tried when he was done hurling invectives at her and took his leave.  “Some people are simply broken.”

Anders risked touching her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.  “I know.  I just…” she mostly whispered, “It was a lot of money.  It could have been enough, if I was careful.”

Varric, quiet until now, spoke up, “Bartrand won’t leave until he has what he needs, and you didn’t hand him your purse.  He won’t just disappear on us.  Probably.”

Hawke, not comforted, nodded, stiffly, and turned towards Lowtown, followed by Varric and Anders.

I turned my own steps towards Hightown, feeling the separation between Hawke and I more than ever.

I needed to get that job done.  She kept saying she was close – that she had the funds for the job, but just had to make sure of her own supplies and equipment, as well as leave a little for her mother to live on while she was gone.  Maybe the job from me would tip her over into the black.

She deserved to have something go right.


	10. Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I had a backlog of these?
> 
> Expect one today, and one tomorrow. It would be nice to finish it up before August is over, seeing how this was supposed to be for JULY!

The job was a simple thing, or it should have been.  An extra patrol, bandits removed from the equation, trade caravans a little safer, and the Guardsmen saved for their proper duties.

I had long since ceased to blame Hawke for the things that constantly went wrong around us.  Mostly.

I was foolish enough to think that the job going smoothly was a good sign.

She stayed long enough for Jevan to finish chewing me up and spitting me out, and was kind enough to say nothing when I emerged from his office, angry, and not in the mood to give up, but ordered to do just that.

I had been in positions before where I’d been ordered to follow a commanding officer who was wrong, and corrupt.  What happened with Loghain at Ostagar - how he’d betrayed his own King and son in law - betrayal left a foul taste in my mouth.

So when the Guardsman on duty thanked me… said that she’d have been overwhelmed… I was already inclined to listen to my gut instead of Jevan.  “A heavy satchel, was it?  When it should have just been the duty roster?” All my suspicions returned, tenfold.  Surely the Guard Captain wouldn’t throw his own Guards under the wagon… I remembered Loghain, and seeing the tower alight, and following his order to retreat... “What happened to it?”

“Passed it onto the Guard posted to Lowtown, didn’t I?  Next on the list.”  I nodded, and the Guard went about her duty.

I crossed to the posted roster and scanned it.  Somehow I knew who it would be.  Jevan had a grudge against so called ‘barbaric Fereldans’.  “There.  Donnic.”  A cold finger ran down my spine.  “Donnic.  A… good man.”  Hawke snorted, and I ignored her.  “And another relatively quiet patrol.  What are the odds that it won’t be, tonight?”  I turned back to Hawke, “I can’t ask…”

“Of course I’ll go.”

I nodded, trying not to get emotional about it.  “You’re a good friend.”

“The best,” she grinned.  “Let’s go save your Guardsman.”

“He’s not my-“

“As you say.”  She winked, and was halfway up the barrack stairs before I could say another word.  I followed at a run, chasing her, hoping we wouldn’t be too late.

We made it to the back alley, just in time to find Donnic struggling to get to his feet as ruffians kicked his ribs.  “Guardsman!” I cried out, and swung my shield out, beating back his attackers.

“Lieutenant?!” His eyes – already swelling - opened, and he fought to his feet, placing himself at my back as I circled slowly, sizing up our opponents.

Hawke had already shocked the shit out of them, they vibrated with the charge.  I only hoped Donnic was too dazed to notice, as I cut down two of them where they shook.  The discharge ran up my sword, but I didn’t care – I moved onto the next.  “Leave a few for me, will you?”  Donnic laughed, his voice hoarse.

I tried – but another knocked his legs out from under him with a sweep, and he fell again and didn’t get up.  Snarling, I advanced, tears in my eyes, remembering Wesley and seeing darkspawn instead of smugglers.

Hawke took advantage of Donnic’s unconsciousness to throw a few fireballs with her curses.  The last of them fell, and I knelt next to my friend, peeling back his puffy eyelid to look at his pupils.  “Donnic?”  His eyes tried, and failed to focus.  “Do you know who I am?”

“Aveline.”  His smile, even with a bleeding lip, was beautiful.  “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”  Donnic let me lift him up, and I… saw something there, through his bleary and mismatched pupils.

“Guardsman?” I asked, low.  Was Hawke right, all along? Did he… I felt my mouth smile, despite myself.

He jerked back into himself, and I took a step back.  Shit.  I had crossed a line.  I grabbed my hand back, and he put his own out, balancing himself on my shoulder.  The weight of him steadied me.  “I’m glad you came.  Morning patrol would have found me dead in the gutter.  I was completely outclassed.”  His helm was already there – the bastards had pulled it off before they’d started kicking him in the head.  I retrieved it and handed it to him.  He eyed the dent in the side ruefully.

“You have a few more dents in your armor now, Guardsman,” I murmured.

“More than just the armor,” He winced, and rolled his shoulder.  “I’d better get back to the Keep.  Report in…”

“I can offer healing,” Anders offered, and Donnic nodded – perhaps a little too trustingly.  With his compliance, Anders’ fingers glowed under my watchful eyes, and Donnic closed his eyes to allow himself to mend.

“First…” I grabbed the satchel from Hawke, whose eyes were far to wicked and knowing.  I ignored her.  “Just as I thought.”  I lifted the bag of gold from it.  “Donnic… this goes all the way up.”

He nodded, “I’m with you, of course, Lieutenant.”

My hands were shaking – with anger, not fear.  “I have to take this to the Viscount,” I told Hawke.  “First thing in the morning.”

“I’ll bear witness, of course.  And so will Donnic, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” the man replied.  His eyes held that softness in them, and my stomach clenched.

“It might mean your job,” I warned him.

“Can’t serve under a bastard like that any longer anyway.”

“Your mother…”

“Would take care of both of us, if I let her,” he laughed, then, making me even more confused.  “Don’t worry about me, Guardsman.”

My fingers tightened on my evidence, as Varric finished searching the rest of the bodies.  “There’s a letter here,” he rose and handed it to me.  “Might help?”

“Might at that,” I smiled at him, though my stomach clenched with nerves.  “Best back to the barracks, then.”  For once, the thought didn’t comfort, and Donnic caught at my arm, stopping me.

“Aveline, you can’t go back there with this.  Not ‘til morning.”

“You think Jevan would…”

“I know he would.”  He coughed, “Would you like to meet my mother?”

Hawke sniggered, and I glared at her.  “Guardsman?”

“I mean… you need a place to stay, and my Mam has an extra room!” He let go and backed away.  “She lives not far from here…”

“Oh,” I was strangely disappointed, and Hawke… she looked positively smug.  “Yes – I suppose that’s wise.”

“We’ll just leave you two lovebirds alone,” Hawke and Anders exchanged a look, and Varric’s mouth was twisting and his fingers twitching.  I could almost see him forming words with an unseen quill.  I glared at them all, and then shook my head.

“See her safely back to Gamlen’s, Varric?”

“As always, Aveline.”

I nodded, crisp, trying to regain my professionalism.  “After you, then, Guardsman.”

I followed him up the stairs to the higher part of Lowtown, where the houses were well-cared for, and the ditches were never clogged with debris.  “This is it,” he knocked, twice, and then once again.  “Mam?”

“Donny?  Is that you?”  A well-muscled woman with a sleeping cap on came to the door and blinked.  “Well, I often imagined you bringing someone home to meet me, but I didn’t think it’d be this early.”

“This is my lieutenant, Aveline Vallen.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mistress,” I started.

“And she’s Fereldan!”  The woman beamed at me.  “Come in, come in.  I have to admit, I half suspected my boy would bring home some Orlesian – the way he’s been lately, saying he’s working all those extra hours, I knew something was up.”

Donnic’s tanned cheeks flushed to the color of overripe cherries.  “She needs a place to sleep for the night.”

Her eyes were sharp, even as short on sleep as she was.  “What’s wrong with her room at the barracks?”

“Just for one night, Mam.”

“I suppose she can have your room.”  Her gaze pierced her son, knowingly.  “Assuming you’re not going to use it.  Are you?”

I mouthed ‘your room?’ to Donnic, eyebrows raised.  “Don’t,” he told me.  “It’s not like it sounds.”

Her piercing eyes scanned her son, and narrowed in worry. “Are you being safe, Donny? Oh, Maker’s Breath, you’ve been hurt again, haven’t you?”

He sighed, “I’ve had someone look at it, Mam.”

“I’ll get you a poultice to sleep with.”  She turned and eyeballed me again.  “Well, you’re not likely to rob me in my sleep.  But you’ll strip the sheets in the morning and clean up after yourself.  Donny wouldn’t bring someone home for just any little thing.”  She pursed her lips.  “I hope you two are staying out of trouble?”

“Yes’m.”  It was the only thing to say.

Then she smiled, and I saw where Donnic got his charm from.  “Good enough.  Show her to the room, Donny.  And then get out of here – you should be done with your patrol now.”

Without another word, Donnic rose and trailed to the end of a short hall, opening a door.  “In here.”

“Thank you… Donny.”

“Don’t you start.”  His ears were vivid, even in the dim light.

I stepped past his arm, looking at things.  He grabbed a taper from the shelf and lit it from the torch in the hall, and then lit the candles for me, one by one.  In their light, I could see that the bed was simple, but wide enough, and the mattress looked like it wasn’t too soft, with a woven wool blanket not unlike the one on my bed at the barracks.  The whole room smelled like lemon oil, and there was an armor stand in the corner.  “Well appointed,” I nodded in approval. 

“I come and stay – on my days off.  Mam gets lonely.”  He muttered, embarrassed.

“Good lad,” I managed to keep my face straight.  “And I suppose the food doesn’t hurt?”

He smiled, wide.  “Not at all.”

I stepped in deeper.  The bed was calling to me - mental fatigue and worry warring with exhaustion after the too-long day.  “That will be all, I suppose.”

“Is it?” He looked a little disappointed.  “I’ll be waiting for you in the Keep’s foyer in the morning then, shall I?  We’ll go to the Viscount together?”

“I… would appreciate that,” I lowered my voice.  “Donnic- I-“

“Yes, Aveline?”

My cheeks heated, and I thanked that the torches in the hall didn’t shine in so well as to illuminate them.  “Thank you.  For – everything.”

“My pleasure, lieutenant.”  His eyes dipped momentarily, before he shook himself and backed up.  “I’ll see you in the morning then.  Sleep well – but if I know Mam, she’ll have lavender in the pillow to make sure of it.”

“Good night?”

“Sweet dreams.”


	11. Command

“What do you mean?”  I stared at Seneschal Bran.  “Me?  Guard Captain?  You must be joking.”  My predecessor had just been arrested by his own men – taken forcibly from his office, screaming at me while he was hauled away.

“Why not?  You’ve proven yourself competent, honest, loyal…” Bran’s lip curled at Hawke.  “No matter the company you keep.”

Hawke was used to the man’s casual dismissal and ignored him.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“It will take time.  Training,” Bran walked to the door, “But it will happen, Guardsman.  You can be sure of that.”  He bowed out, and I clutched Jevan’s desk with both hands, hardly hearing Hawke’s delighted congratulatory noises in the background.

She left, and still I clung to the desk like a lifeline, until there was a soft knock on the open door.  “Aveline?”  Donnic – my head whipped up.  “Well, you look like shit.  No lavender in the pillow?  I’ll have a word with Mam.”

He startled me into a half-hysterical laugh.  “I didn’t expect them to offer me the job.”  I rubbed my eyes, “There are those who’ve have been here longer – they have seniority.  I should turn it down, refer them to the Viscount…”

“You’ll do no such thing.”  Gentle hands pulled mine away from my face.  “You’ll be brilliant, Guard Captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I should get used to it, Serah.”  His smile was sweet.  “And so should you.  No one else I’d like to take charge of me, that’s for certain.”

“You’re awful,” I said automatically, even while my face warmed.

“That’s not what you said last night,” he chuckled, and I laughed, uncontrollably, until the current Guards off duty began to trickle in, looking alarmed at my apparent hysteria.

“Guard Captain?”

I struggled to regain control, “Void take it, not all of you,” I started, worried, as the first saluted, while Donnic beat a hasty retreat before I could mock backhand him.  They all offered congratulations, one by one saluting, until again, I was alone in my office.

Even more alone than before.  I stared for a minute at the desk, and then pulled a sheet of parchment towards me.  I would need to appoint a few new lieutenants – not just my replacement, but people who would lead as well, if not better than, me.  We’d never had enough leadership for efficient delegation.  I’d need to implement double patrols – I’d recommended those to Jevan months ago and been dismissed.  Now I knew why…

There were a million things to change in Kirkwall’s Guard and they all needed to start here, at this desk.  I began to make notes, my runes largely undecipherable in my haste to get the ideas down.

Merit based promotion.  Ending nepotism.  Tolerance and more patrols for the alienage – could we find some elven guards, to set the residents at ease?  Was there anyone in the Guard who spoke qunari?  Would it help the situation if there was?  Would Fenris do it?  Would he be willing to teach Fog Warrior hand to hand combat?  What about Dog – would he be interested in training recruits?  Where could I find more recruits?  I nibbled at the end of my quill, and then wrote it down anyway.  Perhaps the candidates would appear, if I made it known I was looking...

The Qun was a real problem – I could see someone running to the Arishok to escape the reach of the Guard…

I was borrowing trouble.  I set the pen down and pinched the bridge of my nose.

A mug clunked down next to my elbow.  I looked up, and it was already dark.  “What time is it?”

“Nine bells,” Donnic stood at attention, hands behind his back.  “Guard Captain, you were lost in your work.  Perhaps you could use a break?”

“You’re a good man, Guardsman,” I smiled, and sipped the tea.  “Just the way I like it.”

“Your men?  Or your tea?”

“At ease, Guardsman.”  I leaned forward, laughing.  “Tell me… how would you feel about a promotion?  We need more lieutenants.”

“The tea’s not that good, Guard Captain.”  He leaned against the desk – my desk.  “I could give you a list of people that’ve earned it, if you’re interested, and don’t mind bucking tradition.”

I lifted an eyebrow, amused.  “Guardsman, whatever made you think I wouldn’t be planning to do just that?”

He grinned and shifted himself sideways.  “Then let’s get to it.”


	12. Learn

“They aren’t people, like you and me.  They can light a city on fire in a fit of pique!”

I wanted to argue with the Knight Captain.  Mages were people – I had the evidence before me on a daily basis.  They bled, and wept, and starved like the rest of us.  But I could see the haze of lyrium in Knight-Captain Cullen’s eyes, just the way I’d seen it in Wesley’s.  I could hear the way he was echoing Meredith’s own madness – already no secret to those of us that dealt with her often.  I couldn’t reach him now.

He was still blathering on, and I saw Hawke give her signal to Dog, rubbing her nose and coughing.  Dog lifted his leg, ever so obediently, and a stream onto armor was forthcoming.

Cullen didn’t notice.  He never did.  “One out of ten mages give into blood magic…”

“And what about the other 90%?!”  Hawke’s hiss was dangerous, and, worse, I could smell smoke over the scent of Dog’s urine.  “What about them, Knight-Captain?!”

He looked down, and saw the puddle, “What… did your dog just…” he glared.

“Mabari prefer to be dominant, Knight-Captain.”

It was time to get us out of the Gallows.  “Hawke…”  I tugged, and reluctantly she followed.  We were halfway to the docks before she spoke.

“You should have let me light him on fire.”

“And have the sole support of your family locked in the Gallows until the end of time?” She drooped after my harsh words.  “Think, Hawke.  It’s worse than throwing fireballs if you talk back to the Templars here.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hawke narrowed her eyes in my direction.  “But… that kid.  Wilmot, was it?  Wilmod?  Damn it, what was his name?” She was visibly upset over forgetting.  “Someone should remember…”

“You knew he was possessed, you saw him change,” my voice was flat.  “There was nothing you could do.  Templars don’t give abominations second chances.”

“He was probably his family’s sore support, too.  Masha certainly depended on her brother…” her words trailed off.  “Kiran wasn’t possessed.”

I jerked my head around.  “What are you saying?”

“Kiran wasn’t possessed.  I knew, after I’d… gone too far.  The demon would have defended itself.”  She looked sick.  “He acted nothing like Wilmot, either.  You had to notice.  What happened when the Knight-Captain attacked?  The demon emerged as soon as he kneed him in the balls.”

I hadn’t, for my sins.  “We killed an innocent boy?”

Her headnod was crisp, her eyes tormented.

“Maker’s Mercy, Hawke.”  My legs gave way, and I sat on the steps down to the Gallows’ dock and cradled my head in my hands.  “Maker have mercy on us.”

“I’ll… I’m going to confess,” she whispered.  I eyeballed her, carefully.  “Not like that, Aveline.  I’m guilty as sin, but I’m not showing up at your office with my wrists out.  I’m not that desperate.  Yet.  I mean at the Chantry.  Even if there’s no forgiveness for an apostate.”

I spoke slowly, carefully, “The sisters will turn you in, if they know.”

“They don’t know.”

I raised my head, slowly.  “You… you’ve done this before?”

“Not often.  Just when I realize I’ve made a mistake.”  She slid down next to me, nearly boneless in her fatigue.  “I see a different confessor every time, and never say how it happened, just that it did.”

“Does it help?”  The question slipped out despite my best efforts.  “Do you feel better, after?”

She shook her head, not looking at me.  “But this way, maybe the Maker knows that it was a mistake?  It’s not about being absolved.  It’s about saying, ‘Oops, my bad.’”

“A man’s life ending is a huge mistake.”  I stood up.  “I have to get back to work.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out.  “I’ll keep you out of my messes from now on.  I swear.”

I bit the side of my cheek, to stop myself from saying something bitter.  “Hawke,” my voice came out relatively gentle.  “You’re my friend.”

She lifted her face to mine, tears tracking down through the dust.  “Still?”

“You make me do things, be involved in things, that I shouldn’t approve of,” I began, trying to track my way into making sense.  “And some… I do.  And that makes me worry, I admit.”  A deeper breath, to fill my lungs.  “But you are my friend, Hawke.  Always.  I’m here for you.  Even when we make mistakes together.”

She smiled, sadly.  “Likewise, Aveline.  If you ever need anything-“

“I know who to call.”  I touched her shoulder, trying not to notice that she jerked away.  “Perhaps… perhaps I’ll go to confession with you.  We’ve… we’ve all made mistakes.”  I tried to laugh, “And maybe I can keep you away from that Brother you find so irresistible, if I tag along?”

“I’ve never even spoken to him,” she admitted.  “I don’t go when he’s manning the booth.”

“And that’s what scares me,” the lighter tone was a little easier now.  “Since when do you not talk to people?  You talk to everyone.”

“When I don’t deserve to.”

That was more worrying than anything else that happened that day, looking back.  Hindsight truly is a bitch.

But I’d all but forgotten by the time we left the Chantry, for reasons of my own.


	13. Hope

We met the Guardsman coming out of the Chantry that same night.  Donnic, as ever, was quick to salute, “Guard-Captain,” he snapped to attention, and it was all I could do not to flush.  “Didn’t expect to see you here.  Nothing business related, I hope?”

“That’s between me and the Maker, Guardsman,” I winced slightly, knowing I sounded like a prig.  I tried to moderate my voice, “Just confession.”

“I can’t imagine what a woman as honest as yourself would need to confess.”

Hawke groaned, and excused herself.  “I need to see a man about an enchantment,” she told me, before whispering in my ear, “Grab him while you can, Aveline.  You can always go to confession again.”  She patted my pauldrons and left me stammering.

“I… mean, doesn’t everyone?” I wrinkled my nose.  Ugh.  “I’m not particularly devout, it’s true.  But… recent events… well.  You know it goes?”  The silence after that dragged on, more than a bit.

“My mother sends her greetings,” Donnic managed to push out between my feeble attempts at conversation.

“Good!” I leapt at the change in subject like a Halla.  “Good.  She’s… well, I hope?”  I laughed, hopelessly.  “Of course she’s well, a hearty woman like her.”

“She had a touch of the cough, last month.  Healers got her through it, with a neighbor staying while she recovered.”

“You could have asked for time, Guardsman.  I would have granted it, happily.”

“I…” he colored.  “I didn’t want to ask for a favor, Captain.  Favoritism… Jevan was known for it, and…”

“Family’s not a favor,” I touched his gauntlet gently.  “How is she now?”

“Better.”  He looked at me quizzically.  “As I said.”

“Oh.”  I felt my face heat further.  “Right.”

Donnic looked at me closer, “Are you well?  There’s a nasty thing going around out of Darktown, I’ve heard-“

“Quite well,” I gripped my sword, trying not to remember the last trip to Darktown, where we’d killed… no.  “Just… why are you at the Chantry?  Not a place I’d thought I’d meet you.”

He shook his head, “It’s the patrol you assigned me.”  His eyes were confused.  “Brennan’s about, somewhere.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“No, you have dozens of Guards to remember.”  He shrugged.  “No harm done.”

“You’re not just any Guardsman,” I said, before I caught myself.  I felt the blood leave my head.

But Donnic smiled and shifted a little closer.  “I’m not, am I?”

“No.”  My lips were working on their own.  “You’re… a good man, Donnic.”  The words were completely inadequate.  “Better than most, I’d wager.”

“Am I, now?” His eyes tracked down to my betraying lips.  “Good to know, Guard Captain.”  The way he said it felt like a caress.  Was it possible? Could he...

I swallowed, with difficulty.  “The patrol – it’s been… uneventful?”

“A few pickpockets in the market.” He shrugged, “Nice for a change, I suppose.  I prefer a little more action.  I’ve been looking for informants on that smuggling ring out of Lowtown, though.  Finding a few.  Helps pick up the pace a bit.”

“Action, of course,” a few people came out of the Chantry, pushing me closer to him in their haste to be elsewhere.  I found myself less than an arms-length from the man, with him looking slightly down at me.  My headband felt too tight, throbbing slightly over my temples.  “Donnic, I…” his eyes were so soft, so kind.  I could smell his aftershave, and I closed my eyes.  “I don’t suppose you’re ready to consider that promotion?”

He stepped back, the moment lost.  I winced again, as the sharp wind from the docks slapped me back into sanity.  “I’m… happy where I am, Aveline.”

“Right.” I nodded, crestfallen.  “Let me know if that… changes.”

He tilted his head, and opened his mouth, but then shook it again.  “You’ll be the first to know, Captain.”

“I – should get back to the barracks, then.”  I wanted the chance to fall apart alone.  “As you were, Donnic.”

“I’ll be here.”

I couldn’t help but look back.  He looked… lost.  I nodded to Brennan as she came back at a run with their lunches in hand.

He deserved better.  But what did he want?

I doubted it would ever be me.


	14. Wait

Hawke left for the Deep Roads shortly after that; the coin hard-earned, the necessary supplies bought, maps supplied, so that even Bartrand couldn’t find fault with her participation.  She took Anders and Fenris with her, and even I lit candles for their safety, half hoping to run into Donnic on his rounds.

I’d like to think it helped.

It was a difficult time for the rest of the Hawke family.  Gamlen was cruel to Leandra over her not contributing.  Carver was desperate to find paying work now that his sister wasn’t carrying them on her shoulders.  The money Hawke had left for them was gone in the first month.  Leandra was incapable of making what she had last.

I checked on them, fairly often.  Brought a few things - not much, but enough to make sure that they wouldn’t starve.  Donnic would come with me, occasionally - he claimed that part of Lowtown wasn’t safe.  In my opinion, the most dangerous person in it was Gamlen (if not me) but I enjoyed his company, all the same.  We didn’t get much time together at work any longer.

They’d been gone for two months the first time I heard the hints.  I have no doubt that they’d been going on behind my back for much longer.

“Couldn’t you take Carver on in the Guard?”

“We’re not hiring, at the moment.”  It wasn’t the exact truth, but we had just hired a new group of recruits.  “I’m sorry, Leandra.”

“Well, there has to be something he could do… you know people, can’t you-”

“Mother, I don’t want a handout.”  I respected Carver, a little then.  “I told you, if I do anything, I should just join the Templars.  Somebody ought to be on the right side of the law in this family...”

Leandra’s wails pushed me out the door early with the poorest of excuses.  

I didn’t think he’d actually do it. I thought it was an idle threat of exposing his absent sister to get better treatment at home.  I was very wrong.

A few weeks later I was coming out of a meeting with Meredith, and there was Carver, speaking to the Knight-Captain.  I looked at him - and he didn’t meet my eyes.

I waited by the docks for him, his curt greeting all the confirmation I needed.  “Carver - what have you done?”

“I don’t need your lectures, Aveline.”  He was so sullen, in those days.  “I’m not my sister.  I can’t walk into the Hightown market and have someone offer me twelve jobs in a half hour.  I have to do something.  Gamlen’s driving me mad, and Mother’s worse.”

“But the Templars?  What about Hawke?”

His face hardened further.  “I don’t have many options.  You already said you wouldn’t have me for the Guard… it’s either that, or try to get a job at the Bone Pit.”

I blanched, but had no reply.  The mine had a horrible reputation.

Carver pressed on, “Being a Templar is honest work.  And… I have a little experience that translates well, without giving away any secrets.  They know Father was a mage, and he trained me, first.”  He shrugged, looking off across the harbor.  “It means I can leave home.”

“Your mother is going to have a fit.”  She would blame me.  Blame Hawke for leaving...

He sneered, “As if I was ever going to be the gentleman of leisure and fortune she wanted.  Fighting’s the only thing I know - that and protecting a mage from their own stupidity.”

I slapped him.  “Your sister has been all that’s keeping your soul alive for nearly two years,” I hissed.  “You ought to be grateful.”

“For what?  That she’s gone off and got herself killed, and left me behind to carry the burden?”

I grabbed his wrist, and he pulled away.  “What have you heard?”

“Bartrand’s back - been and gone, actually.”  Carver was far too pleased to have gotten the news first.  “Less than half his group came back with him.  Mother and I went up to Hightown to see him, and - nothing.  He claimed my sister never came through with her half of the money - that his brother begged him to finance her share of the operation, and did so out of the kindness of his heart.”

“I’ll have him before a magistrate,” I spat.

Carver laughed, bitterly.  “My Mother had the same idea, but when we went back in the morning to make the threat, his house was all but empty.  Ran, in the middle of the night.  Servants said he was going to Cumberland.”

The ferry’s gentle rocking made me ill.  “What happened?”

“He claimed that my estimable sister had wandered off with Varric, Anders, and Fenris, and gotten lost.  That he found their bodies, only recognizable by their weapons, the next day.”  He glanced aside.

I scoffed, “So Bartrand had Bianca, then, to offer as proof?”

Carver blinked.  “Not that I saw.”  He leaned in, desperate.  “You think he was lying?”  His eyes - usually disdainful when he spoke of Hawke, were hopeful.  “You think they might be…”

“Varric’s weapon is worth a fortune,” I said, very slowly indeed.  “I have a hard time believing they were identified by them, and yet Bartrand didn’t take Bianca for himself.”

Carver sat back, rocking the boat violently.  “I didn’t think of that.”  He spun back to me.  “Don’t tell Mother.”

I shook my head.  It wasn’t wise to let her hang her hopes on a long shot… more likely Bartrand just hadn’t looked for the bodies.  “But… I have a very hard time believing that Marian Hawke could ever get lost, especially with a Warden along.  I… remember Lothering.  She was amazing.  And that was before she spent a year running with the Red Iron.”

Carver pressed his lips together, but nodded once, curtly.  “Mother will…” his words trailed off, his expression hardened again..  “Look, Aveline, if you were ever my sister’s friend-”

I restrained myself with difficulty.  “Yes?”

He lifted his chin.  “I’ve got to get out.  Away from her shadow - alive or dead, it makes no difference. Do you understand?”

Reluctantly, I nodded.  I’d been in the same place.  “But the Templars?”

“It’s done,” he said bluntly.  “The Knight-Captain will be by the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh,” that was fast work, but- “Better done quickly, I suppose.”

“That’s what I thought.”  He seemed relieved I wasn’t going to fight him.

“Your sister will think you did this for spite.”

“We still have to eat,” his voice was harsh, and it was true - he’d shot up at least an inch during her absence, and his cheekbones were hollow.  “If she does come back, Mother will be taken care of.  If not - this will keep her fed, even if she never gets her precious house and title back.”

It made sense.  Given a poor hand, he was making the most of it.  “All right, Carver.  What time?”

“Early morning.  Eight Bells.”

“I’ll be there.”  It was his turn to be surprised.  The boat grated next to the Lowtown dock, as the driver steered it in and twisted the rope around the jetty.  “I’ll back your decision.”

“I…” he looked away, “Thanks.  I didn’t expect that from you.”

“I had a father with expectations, once.  And you’re right - you need to get out of that house.”

We parted amicably enough, and if I watched Carver leave, his shoulders bowed and bent further with every step - well, at least he was making his own decisions.  I hoped it wasn’t a mistake.

Thursday dawned early, and I left before Donnic returned from his Alienage patrol.  Alone I trudged in the cold morning air, my thoughts in circles, kicking idly at rocks in my path.

Bartrand fled where no one pursued.  He was guilty of something - but what?  I couldn’t see even that twisty bastard murdering them in cold blood and leaving his brother to rot... had he taken Bianca, and knowing he’d never find a buyer in Kirkwall, fled to Cumberland to sell it there?  It was plausible… but I had no proof, other than him fleeing.  Could I dare search his house, if it was indeed empty?  If Hawke and the others were dead, they deserved justice...

My thoughts were so dark that I took several wrong turns, and arrived late.

Knight-Captain Cullen and Carver were already at the door; Leandra wailing about the loss of her only son, clutching to his arm like a limpet.

But they weren’t the only arrivals.

There, on the lower steps was Hawke herself, hair longer, armor dented, with a staff I didn’t recognize strapped to her back.  Varric, next to her, Bianca safe and sound.  Anders flanked her, looking too thin and miserable, and Fenris, implacable.  All of them were filthy.  “Hawke?”  My voice was hoarse in my ears.  Her head whipped up, saw me, and something resembling a smile crossed her face.

“Aveline!  What is this nonsense?  Do you know what’s going on?  Why are the Templars here?”

“Marian!”  Leandra attached herself to her daughter, weeping openly, as Gamlen looked on from the doorway, disgusted by the display.  Every window, every door was cracked, neighbors watching the show.  “Your brother-”

I approached the Knight-Captain, knowing that Hawke wouldn’t be able to hear my explanation over her mother’s complaints.  “He’s a good fighter,” I told Cullen, nodding at Carver.  “Not much you’ll have to teach him, other than discipline.  Teach him how to take orders without talking back, and you’ll have a strong knight.”

Cullen’s face cleared.  “That’s… good news.  He…” he colored, slightly.  “He reminded me of myself.”

“You were poor and starving?”

Cullen huffed, “Not exactly.  But… I had - have - an overbearing older sister.”  His mouth twisted, with some vestige of a sense of humor.  “Who excels in hunting me down and getting what she wants despite my own wishes.”

I couldn’t help but laugh.  “Then his fortune’s made, to be free of that.”

“I wish…” but the Knight-Captain shook his head.  “Never mind, Guard Captain.”  He took a deep breath, projecting to be heard over Leandra’s sobs.  “We should be going, recruit.”

“Yes,” Carver said, relieved.  “We should.”  He turned to Hawke.  “Good-bye, Sister.”

Hawke nodded, the pain of his evident betrayal painted on her face - as obvious as the staff on her back.  “Be safe, Carver.”

They left, and she turned to me, dull-eyed and desperate, her face still half hidden by a clinging Leandra.  “We have to talk - is it Guard Captain, now?”  She pulled a face, “I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone.”

I grinned, “You made it just in time for the party.”

“You know how I hate to miss a party,” She peeled herself away from her mother.  “I’m going to go to the Hanged Man, Mother.  I’ll be back in a while.”

“You just arrived!”  Leandra protested, wiping away real tears for once.

“I need to talk to the Guard Captain officially,” her mouth was tight.  “And I need to discuss business with Varric and the others.  It’s important.  Don’t wait up.”  With no more words she led the way, back to Varric’s comfortable rooms.

We sat in his low chairs, our knees up to our chests, her cradling a tankard to her chest like it was the most precious thing she’d ever owned.

The story she told me wasn’t a happily ever after.  And it wasn’t the easy fortune Bartrand had sold his investors on, for damn sure.  They’d found treasures untold, but the bastard betrayed her and his own brother, left them in the Deep Roads to die.  “I thought as much.”  I stared at Varric, “Your brother claimed he found your bodies, identified by your weapons.  I couldn’t imagine him leaving Bianca on the pyre he claimed to build for you.  I was trying to figure out a way to prove it.”

Varric snorted in agreement, oddly silent.

“But this idol,” I paused, “I’ve never heard anything like it.  He must have taken it with him, when he left.  Surely something that unique means it will be easy to trace?”

Hawke nodded, eyes dark, and drank her ale, silently.  “We’ve more things - but we’re going to need help getting our share of the profits.”

“That part’s easier than you think,” Varric grinned like a death’s head, finally speaking.  “I know half a dozen lawyers who will adore dragging my brother across the coals.  The real treasure might be gone, but we were successful enough on our own.”

“I hope so,” Hawke murmured, leaning back in her chair.  “Mother… doesn’t look well.  I have to get her out of Gamlen’s.”

“I’ll lend you some coin for necessary purchases until we can find buyers,” Varric assured her.  “And I’ll see who can get your Mother in to see the Viscount.  I know a few people.”

Emotions crossed her face rapidly.  Anders stared into his ale, so quiet that I nearly forgot he was there.  Fenris had left early - trusting his party, oddly enough, to see that he wasn’t cheated.

Such were the bonds formed in the Deep Roads, I suppose.  I frowned, out of place in the tight-knit group.  “Hawke - are you well?”

“Half starved, no more,” she shrugged.  “I’ve seen a few things I never want to talk about again.”  Her eyes shadowed further.  “Don’t ask, Aveline.  Please.”

Varric spoke up, “You can read about it in the book,” he winked.  “It’s going to be a bestseller.  Hawke here gets a third of the proceeds.”

“Half,” she immediately countered, with a slim slice of her former shrewd self.

Varric, strangely enough stuck out his hand.  “Deal.”

She took it, and I rose.  “All right, I’ll get the Guard to working on where Bartrand disappeared to.”  I clamped my hand on her shoulder.  “You should all get some rest.”

“I’m going to spring for a room here for Blondie,” Varric rose, carefully, like his bones ached. “No reason to have him make the hike back to Darktown now.”

Anders continued to stare into his ale, still silent.

I left them then, to their nightmares.


	15. Shadow

The things Hawke brought home made her richer than sin. Varric got Leandra her audience with the Viscount, who promptly declared them the rightful owners of Amell House. They were moved in less than a month, with no help from Carver.

I had hoped that making her mother comfortable would return Hawke to her old self, but the wounds ran too deep.

She was more suspicious, more prone to fits of anger. Bitterness leached from her in those days – she took out her frustrations on the gangs of the city, hammering them all into extinction one after the other. It was a rare morning when my Guardsmen weren’t out there cleaning up in her wake. I couldn’t complain about that – she was doing a valuable public service.

I heard crazy things about her – some Varric’s lies, others that I knew were true. Fire from the sky or lightning leaping up to grab people from the cobblestones when they threatened her - those tales were believable enough. Criminals I arrested insisted that after seeing her they couldn’t move from the spot, like she’d pinned them in place with her will alone. I’d been there myself, when I stepped into one of her Force traps. Demons and slavers alike were killed where they stood – sometimes before they even realized she was there; again, not impossible, given her skills. And despite the vigilante nature of all of it – the city’s crime rates were improving. Kirkwall was safer for her efforts.

If only altruism was her only motivation.

I knew what she was trying to do. She was trying to do what I was doing about my misplaced feelings for Donnic – drown them in being useful, in any way she could. She needed to be hitting things, and she was mostly picking things safe to hit. I was a poor example, to be sure - my training sessions were something to dread.

Hawke wasn’t home much, uncomfortable around her mother’s constant, unyielding grief and ridiculous expectations. She, like Carver, was too Fereldan to settle into being a highborn noblewoman, content to play the lute and embroider useless objects. Leandra would just have to figure that out on her own.

Only rarely did I see glimpses of the woman I met in Ferelden, though I continued to hire her for as many jobs as I could, in an effort to keep her under control. Her mother’s expenses hadn’t decreased with her family size – quite the contrary. The house needed constant improvements, and now she had staff in the form of two dwarves she’d rescued in the Deep Roads, and even a elven maidservant whose father had been victimized by Fenris’ former master. 

Varric had advised safe investments to protect the capital from her relatives’ spendthrift ways, but the kicker was that they only provided so much to live on. Cash flow was still an issue, even for the wealthy, apparently. And Hawke would always prefer to stay busy and out of the house, lest her mother attempt to marry her off. And always in the background was her constant need to vent frustration driving her along. Hawke was an excellent multitasker, in those days. She had to be.

My job consumed me as well, as I stepped into the Guard Captain role formally. I wasn’t there for her as I had promised. It took time to build trust, to find people who had known about Jevan’s plans, and to put them places they couldn’t hurt anyone else if I couldn’t pin their treachery down with evidence.

Everytime I blinked, months had gone by, without me noticing. Hawke, while a frequent visitor to the barracks, largely left me to it, knowing what I was attempting was greater than her need to have a redundant shield at her side. The implementation of my changes – including additional training – took time. I wasn’t adept at easing transitions – I was no diplomat, much to Seneschal Bran’s disappointment - but I was trying to get my Guards used to one thing before I began the next upheaval. Years, it took, to even start seeing improvement, especially in the Alienage.

Merrill helped there, I’m happy to say. And as strong as I tried to seem, I still cried when I recruited Lea, the little elven girl we’d saved from a human monster. She was the proudest Guard Recruit I’d ever met. I partnered her to Donnic, knowing he’d take care of her until she found her footing.

But my hard work at reformations didn’t leave a lot of time for what I deemed longshots, such as the so-called serial killer that we’d seen precious little evidence of for years upon years.

Yes, someone was killing women, but it could have been more than one someone. There was no continuity to the victims – mages, merchant’s wives, maids, none of any particular age or race. If he existed, I couldn’t see the pattern.

I kept passing the evidence to Hawke, whenever that damn Templar brought me another victim, more circumstantial evidence implicating an apostate, usually. It always turned out to be nothing, and I was left to apologize formally to noblemen wrongfully accused. One dead end led to more dead ends, and the case fell to the backburner too easily.

Until it was too late.

It was my fault, at the last.

The shadows were long when I came to the Amell House and was admitted by Bodahn. “Guard Captain,” he murmured, eyes shadowed with grief.

“You don’t have to call me that, Bodahn.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” his hands twisted. “Lady Hawke won’t come out of her room.”

Lady. Yes, I suppose she had inherited her mother’s title. It sounded odd, though. “Has anyone been by to see her?”

He hesitated, “The mage, Anders, he came by… he brought flowers. She threw them in the fire when I tried to deliver them. And Master Fenris. But she wouldn’t see either of them. Knight Captain Cullen came, to offer the Templar Order’s regrets – but I thought it best to accept them on her behalf.” He glanced up the stairs. “Lady Hawke doesn’t have the best control of her temper, at the moment, and the Knight Captain doesn’t bring out the best in her.” He nodded at the tray on her desk, where her correspondence overflowed. “A Brother from the Chantry left a letter when she wasn’t accepting callers, a few neighbors offered condolences… and Ser Carver came home, briefly. She did see him. He shouted at her. It’s not my place to say, but he’d have done better to stay away.”

“Sounds like him,” I rubbed my forehead. “I can stay for a bit, Bodahn, if you need anything. If I can help.”

“Thank you, Guard Captain,” the dwarf beamed, relieved. “If you could get her to eat something… Sandal, Orana, and I are beside ourselves.” I could hear muted weeping from the direction of the kitchen.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I looked up the stairs, noting the darkness under her bedroom door, before grabbing a candle and a handful of tapers. I kicked open the door, half expecting flames to shoot at me. Instead, I was merely bowled over by the stench. “Maker’s Breath, Hawke.” The room stunk like week old cabbage. I found my tactfulness and didn’t mention it aloud. “It’s freezing up here.” I knelt by the fire and started assembling kindling by the glow of my feeble light.

“S’fine,” a mumbled voice responded. Then a bolt of magic shot out to enkindle the wood I’d arranged. “There. It’s warm. Go ‘way.”

“No.” I straightened, ignoring the way my knees creaked. “You wouldn’t let me descend into my grief, once upon a time. You’re getting up, you’re taking a bath, and damn it, you’re eating something.” A bloodshot blue eye opened and focused on me, treachery in its depths. “And don’t you dare cast at me. You haven’t eaten, you’re more likely to burn down the house or hurt yourself than drive me out of here.” I folded my arms. “Get out of the damn bed. I’ll change the sheets.” Noting the bottles next to the bed, “And throw out your garbage. Hawke, how much have you been drinking?”

The fire in the grate took off, all at once, and shadows danced across the room, sending her and I into caricatures of ourselves – larger than life silhouettes of stubbornness. We made a fine pair.

She sat up, but I dared not relax, even when her shoulders slumped. “Fine. I’ll eat.”

“And take a bath,” I challenged. “And you’ll let your staff know you’re alive. I could hear Orana weeping in the kitchen. That poor girl’s lost enough family already.”

She winced. “I just… Mother… she – it - was… she was proud of me.”

“I know. But you can’t just give up, Hawke,” my voice broke. “You have people to live for.”

“Easy for you to say. You have Donnic.” Her fingers twisted her counterpane.

“I don’t ‘have’ anybody,” I snapped. “Guardsman Donnic is my subordinate.”

She snorted, leaning over her knees, a ghost of the woman she used to be. “Is that what they’re calling it now? I don’t judge, if those are your kinks…”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” I stopped snarling, only by breathing through my nose. It didn’t help the stench. “It’s not working.”

Her face crumpled, “Someone should be happy,” she stared at her feet – bare, with broken toenails and bruises everywhere, like she’d been kicking furniture. “Why not you?”

I blinked, and then shook myself. “Donnic doesn’t see me that way.”

She snorted, “You just don’t see yourself the way he sees you.” She swung her legs, with difficulty, over the side of the bed, and stood, shakily. The firelight magnified the shadows under her eyes. “Like the Maker’s Light shines out of your arse.” I ignored her lies.

“Bath first, but take the chamber pot with you to dump down the loo,” I ordered, my nose long since having located the primary source of the stench. “And don’t you dare leave it for Sandal. You’re not the only one grieving. I’m going to open your windows.”

“Yes, Mo…” she stopped, and tears filled her eyes. She grabbed at a chair, her façade broken.

I took two steps forward and held her. “It’s going to be all right, Hawke.”

She sobbed into my shoulder. The shadows still mocked us, merrily, as the fire crackled. This wasn’t the first time we’d supported each other against the darkness. Something told me it wouldn’t be the last.

I didn’t let go. I had something more that had to be said. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I was understaffed.” It was a weak excuse. “There were a million reasons not to pursue the leads you sent me. And none of them are good enough.” It was my fault Leandra was gone, that her daughter was alone. “I should have done more…”

“I should have hunted the bastard down first time I heard of him,” she lifted her chin, eyes sunken and ringed like a raccoon. “I should have listened to Mother, been home more. Vetted her company, if nothing else.” She tried to rake a hand through her hair, only to draw it back, disgusted. “I do need a bath.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever told me I’m right,” I tried to laugh, but the guilt stopped it in my throat. “Here,” I picked up my candle. “I’ll light the candles in the washroom for you. You’re burnt out.”

She snapped her fingers, a light between them for a mere second, before it flickered out. “Oh,” she looked sheepish. “I guess… I guess I could use a hand, at that.” She swallowed. “Thank you, Aveline.”

Maybe we could find the way out of the darkness together.


	16. Thousand

Her mother’s death changed Hawke even more.  She became reckless, occasionally even brutal. She took the sort of jobs that were more about revenge than anything, dragging me along as often as I could break away.

I wonder now, if things would have been different, if I’d been able to go more often.  Anders, Fenris and Varric - and even Merrill - were good people, but no one could claim that they were always innocent.  I watched, mostly helpless, as Hawke sunk deeper into the seedy side of Kirkwall.

Forgive me for being foolish, but I was actually relieved when she took a Chantry board job instead.  I was an idiot; she should never have been allowed to see the posting.

Instead, she ran with it, and met a person that she should have continued to avoid.  So much turmoil could have been spared her, if she only had.

“So there we were,” Hawke’s eyes were glowing with excitement at finally being able to speak to the object of her long distance admiration.  “The Wounded Coast, with the remains of the mercenary company spread out before us like ants on a picnic.  Thousands of them, all armed, and prepared to kill us or die trying.”

“You’re worse than the dwarf,” I muttered, my arms crossed, leaning against the Chantry wall.  My words only made her smile, lighting up her face with the unaccustomed compliment.  I saw the young man’s eyes change with her expression and closed my own.  This wasn’t good.  The fact that the Brother she’d been gawking at for years had finally noticed her - and wasn’t quite a Brother like we’d thought, but a bloody exiled Prince from Starkhaven who might not be subject to the same restrictions…

Vows to the Maker or no, it would lead a mage like her into nothing but grief.  I could feel it down to my bootsoles.

Hawke was using her hands, describing the fight, and the Brother, however much he wanted to look like he wasn’t condoning the violence, was eager to hear the story of her vengeance.  “He came at me with a battlecry that shook the heavens, slinging his axe through the air fast enough to cut holes into the Fade itself.  Shaken, I flung my hair back and my breasts out…” she posed, and I saw the man’s eyes drop.

“Hawke,” I interrupted.

“Your name is Hawke?” The Brother seemed to come back into himself, still a little dazed.  Such was the force of her personality.  “It’s good to have a name to put with my family’s avenger.”

“It’s Marian Hawke, actually,” I certainly hadn’t heard her give out her first name to anyone else.  “But Hawke is just fine, Your Highness.”

“There’s no need for formalities,” his brogue was light, and educated.  “Sebastian is just fine, Lady Hawke.”

“I’m no lady.”  Her smile was far too roguish for a mage.

“Hawke, then.”  He kissed her hand.

I caught the eye – a very disapproving one – of the Grand Cleric.  “Hawke, do you remember where we are?”

She frowned, and looked over at the Revered Mother, “We’re just talking, Aveline.  There’s no part of the Chantry that says ‘speaking in the Chantry is a sin against the Maker.’”  She turned to the Brother, smirking, “Is there?  I admit, I’m a little behind in my studies.”

“Um, no,” Sebastian stammered.  “There isn’t…”

“Good, because I need to tell you all about how, exactly, I killed the motherfuckers who murdered your family.”

Hawke put on a show filled with curses and ever more colorful language, just to shock Mother Elthina, who grew grimmer by the second.  It took several more minutes for me to extract Hawke from the object of her misplaced affection.  She always did perform better for an audience. 

But finally, I settled her down at her spot in the Hanged Man, with an ale in front of her.  “Hawke,” I began.

“Don’t tell me,” she leaned on the back of her chair.  “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“And what’s that?”

“Hands off the Maker’s Merch,” she snorted, and drank her mug empty, waving at Corff to bring her another.  “He made the vows, after all, whether he’s left the Chantry or not.  I shouldn’t tempt him away from them.  There’s a lot of things I shouldn’t do.”  She leaned forward, smirking, her dark hair falling in those piercing eyes.   “Mind you, I’m in the mood today to do all of them.”

“The city is full of people who admire you,” I skipped the first part of my lecture, almost gracefully, I thought.  “Why not step out with one of them?”

“Full of people?”  She snorted, “Anders, you mean.”  Her face softened.  “He’s sweet, Aveline.  The part of me that’s slightly domestic wants to feed him up and make sure he gets eight hours sleep.  Really.  But… I just can’t see him that way.  And Justice would make for an odd menage a trois.”

I shuddered, “You’ve other… friends, Hawke.”

“What sort of friends are we talking about,” Hawke leaned over, fascinated.

Isabela had the lack of grace to enter my peripheral vision at just that moment. “Well, hello, Hawke.” she leaned her bare hip up against the bar.  “Rare to see you out from behind your desk these days, Big Girl.”  Her gaze landed on Hawke, “What brings you out from your high tower, sweet thing?  Celebrating or commiserating?”

Hawke smiled, slowly.  “Maybe both, if you play your cards right.”

“That sounds… promising.”  The pirate’s eyes flashed with interest.  “Tell me what you had in mind.”

I gave up, shoving myself away.  “Just… Hawke… be careful?” My eyes swung to Isabela, a silent warning.  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Right, no confessing to the Brother-slash-Prince, then,” she snarked, well into her third tankard.  “I really ought to have a word with Donnic…”

Isabela slid into Hawke’s lap, smirking at Hawke’s expression, “Don’t tell me those two still aren’t-“

I left quicker than I should have.

No, I shouldn’t have left at all.  But I didn’t want to see what happened next.  Hawke was a grown woman – and perhaps, she could be a balance for Isabela’s more… impetuous nature.  In many ways, they were well suited.  And she was in no mood to listen to me.

I didn’t see Hawke again until the next afternoon, when she showed up in the barracks, obviously hung over.

“How many mercs were there again?” I tried to sound normal, like she hadn’t touched a nerve.  Like I hadn’t been up all night, trying to convince myself she didn’t have a point.  “Thousands?  Or was that just the number of ales you had last night?”  My voice sounded preachy, even to my own ears.

“I lost count after 25.  But,” She squinted, and rubbed her head, “it sure feels like thousands.”  She sighed, “I owe you an apology for... leaving with Isabela, and for what I said about Donnic.”

Did she not remember me leaving first?  Had she gone… It took everything I had not to react.

But she pushed on.  “It’s just… the house is so empty now, and-”

“I know.”  I interrupted.  “Relationships are hard enough as is.  Harder for you.”  I swallowed, feeling like I’d indulged as much as she had, with the way my stomach was twisting.  I hadn’t realized that her drinking had progressed so far as to cause forgetfulness…  “As a mage, I mean.”

She flinched, looking around.

“The Guards know, Hawke,” I told her softly.  “They’ve known since you started taking down the gangs.  You’re… not subtle.  And they don’t care.”

“Oh,” she blinked, rapidly.

“And you were right,” I admitted, slower than ever.  “I should… do something.”  I fidgeted with the package on my desk, and then abruptly, shoved it at her.

“What’s this?”

“A job for you.”  Her face lit up.  It had been a while since I’d given her a job - perhaps all she needed was a little more structure and discipline, to keep her out of trouble?  “Don’t ask what’s in it.  I won’t tell you.  Just – take it to Donnic, and let me know what he says?”  I was taking a risk – but the way he’d been looking at me when we met by accident… maybe Hawke was right, and he wouldn’t be averse… but there was no point in worrying.  I’d know, soon enough.  “Just… go.  And come right back.”

She disappeared, and I tried to make myself look busy, pushing the papers around my desk to disguise my lack of focus, my heart pounding against my chest.

She came back, empty handed.  “And?”

“He was confused,” she plopped down in the chair in front of my workspace.  “Copper Marigolds, Aveline?  What’s this about?”  Her face told me she already knew.

“What do you mean, confused – isn’t it obvious?”  I babbled.  “Copper is tough, and Marigolds are soft…” I pressed my lips together before she started laughing at me.  Maybe Donnic wasn’t willing, if… but no.  I was no quitter.  I slipped the roster out from under the pile I’d buried it under.  “Another job for you, then.”  I thrust it at her.  “Here,” I ordered.  “Post this.”  I’d assigned him the same patrol as when we’d met coming out the Chantry.  When I asked him if he was ready for that promotion…

“This is a roster.” My friend held her head again.  “Am I still drunk?”

I glared, “Just post it.”

“It’s just right over there,” she waved her hand at the door to the main room.

“Just do it.  And tell me what he says.”

“Aveline, Donnic is as clean as the day is long.  He’s not taking bribes, or…”

“He’s not under suspicion,” I snapped.  “Just post the damn roster and get your ass back in here.”

Her eyes rolled, “Yes, Mother.”  She picked it up and slipped out.  

I heard mutterings, and a “Hey, Donnic, who did you screw to get the Hightown posting?”

“No, that’s not right…” Donnic’s voice trailed off, and after a few minutes, Hawke reentered my office, looking thoughtful, if still hung over.  “Yes?”

“He was angry,” she said bluntly.  “You took him off a job he cared about.  What is going on, Aveline?  Why are you punishing Donnic?”

“Damn it, I knew I should have…” I shook myself.  “I can fix this.  I need two… no, five goats, he’s worth that much at least, and a sheaf of wheat.  His mother bakes, she can use the milk… maybe I should have the wheat milled?  Or is it the symbolism that matters more?”

“Milk and flour?  Be still my heart.”  Hawke barked a laugh and swung the office door shut with her magic.  I glared at her, and she shrugged, “You said everyone knew here anyway.  So, screw it.  Aveline…” she leaned forward, entranced, “Are you coming on to Donnic?!  Finally!”

My cheeks warmed, and I slapped my hands against them.  “Yes. No. I can’t!”  I paced, then.  “He’ll complain to the Viscount, request a transfer!”

“The Donnic I know won’t complain about a thing,” she quipped, looking decidedly more alive.  “Not with you bouncing on top of him.”  She squinted at me.  “No, I can’t see you on your knees for any man, even him.  He’ll have to bottom.”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Wesley was definitely a...”

I snarled, and then stopped myself.  “Hawke… what do I do?”

“You’re asking me?”  She leaned forward, arms on my desk.  “I’m half-besotted with a man who can’t even look at me.”

“He looks at you plenty,” I said without thinking, and bit my tongue when she brightened.  “But…”

“It’s not like he’s a Brother, Aveline.  You’ve got it easy.” She sat back.  “Just ask him to the Hanged Man for a pint.  Then casually drop into the conversation that he’s hot as fuck and has lips that you’d like to feel on your nethers.”

I blanched.  She was in fine form, today.  More like she’d been before the Deep Roads.  “I can’t.  He can’t know that it’s the Guard Captain asking… he’ll think it’s to do with work…”

Hawke groaned and slumped in her chair, legs straight out.  “Aveline… if Donnic thinks that you telling him to go down on you is work-related, he’s hopeless.”  She paused, “Of course, he thought you had a lover that was making you lose sleep, so he might be that, anyway.  You two should have been bumping uglies years ago.  What happened, besides you getting promoted?”

The only thing I could do was ignore her when she got like this.  “You could ask,” I leaned over my desk, strapping on my authority like my armor. 

“He’s not my type, sorry.”

I slapped the desk.  “You ask him to the Hanged Man for me – tell him it’s for the whole Guard, a group of friends going out… anything you like!  I’ll show up, and…”

“Ave…”

“Please?”

Her face softened, and she sat up.  “All right.  I’ll let you know when.  And then you’ll come and put this whole charade where you and he pretend you don’t get wet for each other to an end… you hear?  Hopefully by sucking each other’s faces off, grabbing each other’s ass, and getting a room upstairs, while I clink tankards with Varric in our corner.”

I was beet red by the time she finished.  “I… That won’t happen!”

“Wouldn’t it?” She looked disappointed.  “What a shame.” 


	17. Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildly NSFW, without being graphic.

The day before the rendezvous (as Hawke insisted on calling it in an Orlesian accent that sounded like nothing I’d ever heard in my life) passed in a blur.  I couldn’t remember the meetings I attended, the assignments I gave, or the people I inevitably yelled at, in an attempt to cover up my own distractions.  I tried on clothes, trying to look sultry, or at least a little more traditionally feminine, and gave up, throwing on my Guard armor again in despair.  He thought he was coming to drinks for the Guard, after all.  In such a situation, I wouldn’t be the only one there in my armor.

My dithering made me late, and when I peeked in around the door, Hawke was sitting, offering another pint to Donnic, who nodded, with a desperate look in his eyes.  “Oh, I’m sure they’re coming…” Hawke caught my eye, her own begging me to come over and put her out of her misery.

Donnic looked… well.  Handsome, dressed down, and immediately I felt like I had worn the wrong thing.  I marched upstairs and stripped my armor off in Varric’s room, the dwarf watching me silently, with sparkling eyes.  “This have something to do with the man downstairs that looks like he’d rather be anywhere but with Waffles?”

“Yes.”  I bit out.  “Quit talking.”  I stood at the top of the stairs, tugging down on my jerkin.  It felt tight – had I gained weight?  I thought about asking Varric for a split second before coming to my senses and marched downstairs without another word, trying to display non-existing confidence.

Just as I reached them, Donnic stood up.  “I’m sorry, Hawke, but… I like girls with some backbone.” I slumped against the pillar, turning to face him, just as he left, without looking back.

“Oh, Maker,” I groaned.  If he liked women with backbone, I didn’t stand a chance.

“Aveline.” Hawke’s voice was crisp, and flicked like a whip.  I winced.  “What have you done?”

“I’m sorry… I’m not like this…” I shook my head.  “I’ve ruined it.”

“He thinks I’m interested in him!”  Hawke panicked.  “He’s very nice, but I’m not…”

“You didn’t encourage…”

“Aveline!” Now she was scolding, and I deserved it, hanging my head as she lectured.  “What happened?!  You’ve never had trouble talking to him before…”

“Only about work, lately…” my voice trailed off, “That’s it.  I’ll schedule a patrol,” I heard myself saying.  “If I’m working, I’ll be competent.  In control.  I can handle it, then…”

She laughed, “You’ve been talking to him for years.  Why can’t you manage now?”

I scrubbed my face with both hands.  “It… means something.  Before, we were friends, equals.  Now, I’m his boss, and I can’t focus…”

Hawke nodded, thoughtfully, “Too busy imagining what his sideburns would feel like on your thighs?”

I hit her.  Hard.

“So that’s a yes, then.”  She just laughed, rubbing the already emerging bruise.  “Aveline.  Get back to work.  Post another damn roster and take him someplace horrible where you’ll see some action.  Maker knows he won’t get any from you, the way you are right now.  Maker’s Breath, he has blue balls dating back years, the poor man.”  She sized me up, “And you’re no better.”

“The Wounded Coast is having Raider trouble.”  I looked up, hot with embarrassment.  “I can take him there… you’ll have my back?”

Hawke threw her arm around me, “Aveline, if it means you get some, I’ll personally kill every bandit that ever heard of the Wounded Coast.  Twice.”

“You’re… a good friend, Hawke.”

“I know,” she sounded smug.  She deserved to.

We went our separate ways, and I had never been so relieved that I’d scheduled Donnic for opposing shifts to my own.  I posted the roster, to no commentary whatsoever, and went back to work, trying not to think about it.

Pointless, of course.

The patrol was a mess.  I knew that it would be, as I babbled on about metals and blacksmithing traditions.  “I think a man’s opinions on metals is an important indicator of his morality, don’t you?  Say a person favors Dawnstone - it’s brittle, so he must enjoy causing additional pain, don’t you think?”

“Or perhaps that he just likes the color pink?”

“Both are possible, aren’t they?”  My smile was too wide, so I scowled instead.  In the distance, I could hear Hawke going the extra mile - taking out bandits before Donnic or I could see them.

We could hear them, though.  And her signal fires to us were more than visible – I could sense Donnic’s confusion about my nonchalance over smoke in the distance.  I was too tongue-tied and idiotic to try to come up with a plausible explanation.  “Perhaps we should check those out,” I managed to communicate.

Donnic looked relieved, and we walked on, my thoughts not on the man beside me, but on my friend killing bandits on the road ahead.  I hoped she wouldn’t be injured.

It was just like her to support me like this.  Hawke just kept giving.  She allowed me to stand him up at the Hanged Man when it would have been easier to just tell him what I’d done.  She’d kept my problematic little secret crush for years now… though not without significant teasing.  

I was being too quiet.  I needed to fill the silence.  “So where were we?  Ah, yes, are you familiar, Guardsman, with the way Orzamaar dwarves fold steel?  Apparently, it’s unique to their nation…”

They were close enough that I could hear Varric cackling, Sebastian snickering (Why did she have to bring the prince?  How much time was she spending in the Chantry?  And since when was he a good enough friend to ask along on this sort of thing?  Had she told him she was an apostate?!) and smell the ozone as Hawke shot lightning at fools stupid enough to get in her way.  Donnic kept looking in the direction of the sounds, and I struggled to keep his attention on me while we walked, even while Hawke, just up the hill, shook her head disapprovingly, and Varric made kissy lips at me.

The worst thing Donnic and I saw was a nug out of its burrow, but I knew by lunch that this patrol was still going to be the death of me.

At the end of the day, death looked preferable to continuing to embarrass myself.  Dying couldn’t be any worse than trying to look endearing and competent while marching through sand in full armor.  I smiled, hopelessly, at Donnic, my desperation shining brighter than the moon at Satinalia.  “What do you think?  About blades?” I chirped, too cheery for the subject.

Donnic’s mouth twitched and opened.  “Captain-“

And then the hill exploded.

“Oh, Maker,” I groaned, as the Guardsman I was trying to chat up took off in the general direction of the smoke, just as he’d been trained.  “Guardsman, wait!  It’s just Hawke-” He didn’t hear me, already too far away.

We reached the site soon enough, and there was… nothing.  Well, nothing but ash.  I wished I could dissolve and blow away just as easy.  “There, a quiet patrol.  Good work, Guardsman.”  He lifted a single eyebrow at me.

“Shouldn’t we be a little more concerned about those signal fires?  Or perhaps the person blowing things up on the Coast?”

“I’ll write the report up myself, and recommend someone keep an eye out,” I assured him.  “I’ve taken enough of your time.  Have any plans for the evening?”  Easy enough, to hide the evidence of my idiocy under the ever-growing pile of things more urgent.  Donnic, bemused, shook his head.  My words ran out at last, and so, too silent, we turned, and quietly made our way back to the barracks.

It was over. I was going to die alone, surrounded by my sword collection, to be eventually eaten by wild Mabari, who were definitely smart enough to figure out how to get into my locked chamber, if Hawke’s Dog was indicative of the breed.  He managed to beat me at Diamondback nine times out of ten.

Perhaps I should adopt a cat?  Anders might be able to help…

I slung my armor in the general direction of the rack, tossed my sword into its place, and crumpled myself into my chair in my office, pressing my knees against my forehead, as if by pressure alone I could drive the memory of the last few hours, days, weeks,  _ years  _ out. 

My brain wouldn’t stop.  Inept flirting.  Copper Marigolds.  Preferred treatment.  Empty patrols in places that held a hidden meaning.  How could I think he’d understand such messages?  I wasn’t even brave enough to ask the man out for a drink, much less show myself… why did I think that a patrol together would help me get the words out?  He liked women with backbone – I didn’t qualify.

If Wesley hadn’t kissed me first, I would never have had a clue.  What had Wesley even seen in me?  I let a tear slip out of the corner of my eye.

The door opened, and I jerked my head up, my knees down, and stood, pulling my rank over me like a disguise.  “Guardsman Hendyr, I would like to apologize for…”

He swung the door shut.  “I told you that you would be the first to know, if something changed.”  He pulled me towards him without further words, his mouth on mine before I could protest.

As if I would.

His lips were gritty with traces of sand, but his hair… his hair was as silky as I’d always thought it would be, as I twisted him closer.  He pulled my tie out, buried his hands in mine, tilting me upwards towards him.  I returned the kiss, feverishly, desperately, and instead of being repulsed by my forwardness, gripped me tighter.

Surprised, I laughed, low, into his mouth, and felt him smile, and back away.  “Guard Captain, about that promotion…” he laughed.  In response, I jerked him down, until I was sitting on my desk, scooting backwards, in what, I have no doubt, was the most graceful maneuver I’ve ever managed.

But Donnic didn’t stop kissing me.  His hand rested at the small of my back, his lips soft and still demanding… he smiled wider yet.  We must have looked complete fools.

Sweet Maker, I sound like the dwarf’s nonsense.  But there, Varric, now you know what really happened, you complete ass.  Nothing like your ridiculous book, obviously.

“I’ll send the goats to your mother tomorrow,” I breathed into his neck, when we finally came up for air.  His hair smelled like lavender.  He must have been staying with his mother… I breathed deeper.

“Fuck the goats.” Donnic kissed me again.

“I most certainly will not.”  His stubble scraped my cheek when he pulled back, shocked.  Then he laughed, his eyes folding around his humor, just like the first day we met.  I touched his cheek, and he leaned into it.

“Good.”  His mouth felt better than anything since… I drew back, needing to be sure.

“You don’t mind I’m a widow?”

“Am I acting like I mind?”  His lips were swollen, red.  I kissed them again.  “My mother will be shocked I’ve brought someone home.  For real this time.  She already adores you.  She’s been making my life the Void with her nagging.”

“Mothers hate me,” I whispered into his ear, his mouth busy on my neck, his hands at the laces at my bust.  My head spun – were we moving too fast?  Wesley…  _ was dead,  _ my brain supplied, a bit too comfortably.

“Not mine.”  Donnic’s mouth drove my memories away, back onto the pyre where they belonged, creeping down my neck and clavicle.  Rough fingers caught at my laces, pulling them apart.  “She’s been telling me to get a move on for years before someone smarter than me figured out what a catch you were.”

“It has been years, hasn’t it?”  All thoughts of moving too fast evaporated.

“Aveline…” he lifted his head and looked at me, “I’ve been waiting an  _ age.” _

In response, I stripped off my jerkin and he stared, dumbfounded, before lunging towards me.

And all I’ll say now is, Donnic is a very good man, indeed.

It was some time before I emerged from behind my door, somewhat tidied, armor back in place, conveniently covering the red marks we’d managed to leave on each other, to find Hawke still standing guard over my office door.  “All right then?”  Her cheeky smile – the one so often I wanted to wipe off her face – was tender today.  Hopeful.  For me?  In the corner, Varric and Sebastian were comparing notes on last week’s Wicked Grace night, debating how to catch Isabela cheating, so I abandoned pretense.

I melted.  “Oh, Hawke, he’s…”  I remembered where I was and yanked her into my office, swinging the door shut again.  “Guardsman Donnic did not file a complaint.” My smile felt like it would crack my face open.  Could a person die of happiness?

“Nothing to complain about, from the looks of him.”  She winked, “Invite me to the wedding?  I’ll make a toast and everything.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” I scoffed.

“What was all that about goats, then?  I’m Fereldan, too, Aveline.”  She leaned against my door frame, ever so casual, her words naughty whispers, “But if that’s the case, Guard-Captain, I’ll see you at confession.  From the noise, you both need it.”  She winked.  “You might want to ask a mage or two about silencing glyphs for your office door.  Or perhaps Sandal has something?  I’ll ask.”

I brought my hands up to my cheeks and ignored her comment about confession.  Her time at the Chantry was a box I didn’t want to open right now.  “Hawke!”

“I won’t say a word,” she protested, hands up and backing away to the now open door.  “The soul of discretion!  That’s me!”  Her laughter rang down the hall with her bootsteps on the tile as she waved for Varric and Sebastian to catch up.

I retreated as well, but not before Donnic caught my eye – smug as a sated Mabari.  Perhaps with cause – he wasn’t the only one who gave as good as he got.  I jerked my head towards the roster, and he grinned, and obeyed, whistling.

There would be talk, but I could deal with rumors, and Donnic would never presume to capitalize on our… relationship.

Void take it.  I may have kicked the door shut, and buried my head in my desk, and let my smile spread wide, melting away the last of my loneliness.

In my mind, Wesley held me, and whispered,  _ Be happy, Aveline.  Not for me.  For you. _

Who was I, to deserve two such men in my lifetime?

But both of them, and my dearest friend, thought I did.

So who was I to argue?


	18. Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should explain here that I am taking liberties with Varric's 'official' timeline here. In my version of events, Sebastian does the stupid thing before the end of Chapter 2, leaving Chapter 3 for Hawke's misery and revenge.
> 
> My Tale of the Champion doesn't have a happy ending for another two fics. After this one, you need to read 'Long and Lonely Road', which deals with Hawke during Inquisition and just after, and then 'Demands of the Champion', where Hawke gets the happy ever after she deserves.

Unofficially, Hawke had become liaison to the Arishok.  He asked for her by name once, and that’s all it took for the merchants who wanted to sell or buy or generally take advantage of them to fly at her like a flock of seagulls, pecking and nipping for whatever she could tell them from her interactions with the Qun.  They tried Fenris, too, but the elf was far more intimidating than the daughter of Leandra Amell.

She ignored most but made the exception for one Jarvis – a dwarf that Varric knew, if ever so reluctantly.  The man was obsessed with the explosive Gaatlok that only the Qunari knew how to make.  I think she was intrigued, and also inclined to build on her limited success with the Bone Pit - she was always aware, much like myself, about the plight of most Fereldans in comparison to hers.

We were very lucky, and we knew it.

I would like to think that Hawke would normally have seen through the merchant’s blatant greed, but she was short-tempered lately, glaring at everyone but Varric, and flicking bits of fire off the tips of her fingers more often than made me comfortable.

Donnic would say that I was always uneasy around magic, but I flattered myself that I’d grown rather tolerant of Hawke’s.

It was supposed to be my day off, but Donnic was working, and I had nothing better to do than make sure that Hawke was accompanied by someone with more sense than a Prince who didn’t know how much bread cost, and a dwarf who delighted in egging our friend on to unwise decisions.

Speaking of the Prince, the little bits of fire were growing closer to the feet of that same man.  Genteelly, he sidestepped them until he was nearly at the edge of the cliffs outlining this section of the Wounded Coast.  “Hawke, would you mind?”

“Stuff it, Your Highness.”  I frowned at the harshness in her tone.  She didn’t normally talk to him that way.  “Would you rather I conjure flower petals to scatter at your feet? ‘Hear ye! Hear ye!’”  She projected into the empty dunes.  “Prince Vael approaches!  Gather the vestal virgins for the sacrifice!”  She weighed him for a moment, her lips smirking, her eyes colder than ice.  “Oh, right.  Scratch the virgins.  He wouldn’t know what to do with them.  That whole vow to the Maker thing, you know.”

His nostrils flared with impatience, his lips tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

Varric and I glanced at each other, and remained silent.  It had already been a long day.  I wished we’d never heard of the Maker-be-damned Gaatlok, much less Jarvis.  I wished the Qun had never shipwrecked in Kirkwall.

But as the old saying goes, if wishes were Wardens, darkspawn would die.  We had to deal with the way things were.

Even if the way things were meant that we were miserable.

“You didn’t have to kill him.”  Sebastian spoke where I wished I had.

“Spare me the sermon, Brother Vael,” she snapped.  “He was annoying me.”

Varric rarely disapproved of her behavior, but it rolled off him in waves louder than the surf breaking on the rocks down below.

Hawke’s shoulders bunched up around her ears, her armor and mood spikier than those same rocks.  “Damn it, Varric, don’t you start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”  Varric managed.

Sebastian had the tactlessness to sigh, and Hawke tossed what almost amounted to a fireball at his feet. “Watch where you’re throwing those!”

“Don’t,” she hissed at him.  “Don’t even say a word.”  She stalked towards him, her staff under his nose, sparking with power.  “We know what your words are worth,  _ Your Highness. _ You’re just full of platitudes and good ideas, aren’t you?  Ideas that take into account your own desires quite well and ignore everyone else’s problems.”

“Shit,” Varric muttered, eyes wider than I’d ever seen them.  “Aveline, do you know what this is about?”

I shook my head, hand on my sword, hoping intervention wasn’t going to be necessary.

Varric cleared his throat, “Lover’s quarrel, Waffles?”

“Don’t be insulting,” Hawke answered, her eyes holding Sebastian still – his heels on the precipice of the path – one backwards step to falling over and into the rocky shore below.  “Choir Boy is too holy to have something as common as a lover.  His Royal Highness Sebastian Vael was set on his path by the Maker himself – he’s above something as demeaning as lust or love.  We’re just lowly scum, the rest of us, not worthy even to clean his pearly boots.”  She kicked sand at them, but her heart wasn’t in it.

Varric whistled, almost too low for human ears to hear.  “Hawke, are you…”

“We should go home,” Hawke backed away from her – I wasn’t sure what to call him, after this.  Something had clearly happened.  Something she didn’t want to share.  “We all should.  Especially you,  _ Your Highness.” _

Silently, we followed her back to Kirkwall.  We paused at the gates to Hightown and Varric waved and turned towards the Hanged Man.  I lingered, hoping for a moment with Hawke, for an explanation.  Sebastian hesitated, his shoulders bowed as he trudged reluctantly upwards towards the Cathedral, like he didn’t know where to go from where he stood.  Hawke stood and watched him as I waited.  She turned, one hand pressed below her eye, until she saw me, and dropped it.  “Aveline?  I thought you’d…” she shook her head, but not until I saw a single tear flick off into the torchlight.  “Don’t ask.  Please.”

“Someone should,” I started.

“Not you,” she stressed.  “Not when you’re… so bloody happy.”  Her lips pressed tight, white around the edges.  She squeezed her fingers together, but I could see flames flickering around the edges, trying to devour her hand.  “Go home, Aveline.  And say ‘hi’ to Donnic for me.”

She ran off into the darkness towards Hightown before I could stop her, and I was left to return to the barracks alone.


	19. One

Donnic remained wonderful, supportive, and vocal in his affection; a pleasant change from the sort of diatribe I got from the Viscount and his Seneschal, and, thankfully less often, from Meredith herself.  My days may have been chaotic and demanding, but my nights - he made the barracks seem more like home than ever.

The competition for unwelcome attention between me and Hawke died, however, considering the focus upon my dearest friend.  I didn’t want to drag her into more Guard business, much less draw the Qun’s eyes upon her, but I was I desperate.

I had to try.  “Hawke, the Arishok respects you.”

She barked, harsh, her hands busy as she polished her staff.  “Not enough to influence him.”

I appealed to her sense of justice next.  “He’s hiding two murderers!”

“And why did they commit murder?”

I was reluctant to answer, “The noble raped…”

“Then they were right.”  She looked up at me, eyes tight.  “They were right, Aveline, and you know it.”

“I can’t let this become a precedent,” I began.

“Then ask Fenris to help you instead.  I doubt he will, but you can try.”  She shrugged.  “I have no sympathy for a rapist.  You of all people know Justice takes many forms.”

I clenched my jaw, “You have to see what the Qun is doing to Kirkwall, Hawke.”  I paced, impotent.  “The Arishok is recruiting, did you know?”

She shrugged, eyes hard.  “I can’t see that it matters.”

“He’s recruiting  _ elves. _ ”

“It’s their life. Maybe it will be a better one with the Qun than trapped in an alienage or dumping chamber pots for a handful of coppers.”  She leaned the now impeccable staff up against the wall next to her fireplace – ready for when she might next need it.  I hadn’t seen this particular staff before, but she collected them like lint.  “That reminds me, I need to offer Orana a raise.  It’s been a full year since the last one.”

I groaned and flung my head backwards.  “Hawke… you know I don’t ask you for much.  Not since Donnic...”

Her head fell forward, black hair falling to each side of a pale neck.  “All right, Aveline,” she sighed, “Let’s go pick up Fenris, and talk to the Arishok.  But I should warn you, after the Gaatlok thing, I’m not his favorite person.”

“You didn’t have to kill the damn merchant, you know.”

She pursed her lips, “Probably not.”  Her eyes darkened, “Considering you need a negotiator today, it’s a good thing I did.”  She sighed, weary beyond her years.  “Aveline, this might be the last straw.  The Arishok has no more patience for Kirkwall.”

I took a deep breath, “The Viscount is breathing down my neck – the noble that was killed was the son of one of his strongest supporters.  I can’t just…”

She looked disappointed, “Do you really expect me to get involved in politics?  This isn’t going to end well.”

“They should be tried, and found innocent,” I stressed.  “Let the courts decide…”

“As if elves have ever gotten fair treatment in Kirkwall’s courts!”  She laughed, bitter.  “But let’s get Fenris and start this wild goose chase of yours.  Why not?  It’s not like I have to be at evening services.”

She was right, of course.  Fenris was less than sympathetic, given his past, and I should have known better than to ask either of them to back me up with her ambivalence.  The elves stayed with the Qun, and the situation slid downhill fast.  All of Kirkwall knew by now that it wasn’t about the Qunari ‘waiting for a ship’.  It was about their relic, the one they couldn’t go home without.  

The weather didn’t help – hardly a breath of wind from off the harbor, turning the stench of the city into a lung-burning cloud of noxious fumes and stifling wet heat.  I spent weeks dealing with increasing complaints - both fair and otherwise - directed towards the Qunari squatters.  Fights were breaking out between merchants and Antaam.  There’d been at least one attempted stoning - rocks flung at a warrior as he’d stood guard at their compound.

And then Mother Petrice kidnapped the Viscount’s son.

I’d never seen Hawke so frightened.  Her feet dashed, stumbling slightly against the cobblestones as we ran for the Chantry, hoping to prevent… 

Sebastian panted, “Surely the Revered Mother wouldn’t ignore  _ this _ , not…”

“Shut. Up. And. Run,” Hawke gritted out between her teeth.  Brow furrowed, he obeyed, a short burst of speed bringing him shoulder to shoulder with her.  I clanked after them both, joints protesting.

We were still too late.  The lifeless blue eyes of Seamus stared blankly up at the ceiling of the Chantry.  “How could you do this?”  Hawke hissed, her own focused on the betrayed young man.

Sebastian’s hand reached around to draw his bow, but a wizened hand covered his before he could do so.  The Revered Mother spoke, but no one was listening.  It was too late for her to listen to what Hawke was trying to say.  Too late to intervene.

I remember watching the arrow pierce Petrice’s head, a solid thud like it was striking a melon.  And then her own icy, unfeeling eyes staring up at the copper tiles of the Chantry’s ceiling, and the blood pooling underneath, soaking up into her hair.

I couldn’t bring myself to grieve her. 

With the Qun assassinating a Mother within the very walls of the Chantry, they proved that no place could be considered safe haven.  Over the next few days I was left to watch while the city crumbled into anger and fear as more people - the rich and outspoken against the Qunari ‘menace’ - disappeared.  

The Qun justified the fear, as the body count rose.  Defections became common - better to defect and be spared than die at the hands of the horned ones.  The death toll mounted - Petrice was considered a martyr, by many of the Chantry’s most deluded followers, whatever the Revered Mother Elthina tried to explain to her waning congregation.  

Anti-Qun graffiti warred with the stylized tree of the Qun on every wall in Lowtown, red paint dripping down like the blood in the Chantry as people used the symbol of the city as if it were a magical ward against their Qunari neighbors.  In hightown, more elegant posters and pro-Chantry banners graced the windows and balconies.

The city simmered, ready to explode like the Gaatlok the Qunari so zealously guarded.  

After nearly a week of this, Hawke’s presence didn’t surprise me when she turned up in my office, unannounced.  “I need your help.”

I lifted my head from the despised paperwork, surprised.  “Name it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I’ll make this short, then,” She smiled, all clenched teeth.  “Isabela’s run off, with the Tome of Koslun.”  Outside the door, Varric paced, visibly disturbed and stroking Bianca with shaking fingers.  Fenris stared at the floor tiles as if they held the meaning of life.  Anders’ eyes glowed, briefly, before he looked away from me.  Worrisome.  “That’s what they were looking for, all this time.”

“Well, shit.”  I was already grabbing my armor.

“That’s what Varric said.”  She took a deep breath, speaking fast, “Fenris has it in his head that the Arishok is going to want to duel me for the city.  Because I’m a respected outsider, or some such nonsense.”

“You’re a respected what?!  Bloody Void!”

“Again, that’s just what Varric said.”  She fidgeted, pressing her toe into the crack in the floor tile.

“What do you need?”  My armor was on, and I checked the fastenings with steady fingers.  “I’m with you, no matter what.”

She blew out, quick.  “I need you to get word out.  Guards.  Templars.  Anders said there was a Warden in the city – does anyone know where they hide themselves?  The Arishok is going to try to conquer the city for the Qun, and we’ve got to help these people.  It’s already starting.”  As she spoke, I scrawled messages, rolled and dripped candle wax on the edge, sealed them with my ring in movements that only practice had made efficient.

“Will you fight with my Guards?”

She shook her head, “I’m going to try to go and talk him down,” her eyes glinted, and she blinked, fast. “If I fight this duel, if I win… maybe, just maybe they’ll leave Kirkwall alone.”  Shadows haunted her eyes.  “And if I don’t… I need you to get my brother away from the Gallows.  Away from Kirkwall.  Maybe…” her voice shook, “Sebastian will offer asylum in Starkhaven?”

“Hawke-” I wasn’t as sure as she was – her Prince’s waffling hadn’t seemed to have gone anywhere.  He wasn’t with her - I think I knew why.  Elthina had her hands full, trying to convince Petrice’s supporters that their cause was that of an idiot’s.  “Why would he be in Starkhaven in the first place, much less offer such a thing?”

Her mouth worked, twisting, “If I get through this, I’ll buy you a drink, or four, and explain.”  She shook her head and resumed pacing.  “Get as many people as you can to the Chantry.  Even Gaatlok would have a time taking that down.  Sebastian will help you that much,” she whispered, anger and bitterness in an equal mixture hissing out between her teeth.  “Fenris, Varric, and Anders are coming with me.  If it all goes to shit, I won’t be alone, so maybe we…”  There was a scream from the lobby of the Keep, and the sound of marching feet reverberated from the stones, loud enough to shake my inkwell from its resting place.  “Shit, I’m out of time.  They’re already here.  Aveline…”

I swallowed.  “All right.”  I ran into the foyer, shouting for my lieutenants at the top of my lungs.  Not just the lieutenants answered – all the Guards poked their heads out, some already strapping on their weapons in response to my summons.  Good men and women, the lot of them.  “There’s been another incident,” I announced clearly.  “We have reason to believe the Qun will be attempting to take Kirkwall.”  A collective gasp, but that’s all.  “Your orders,” I began, and then my voice fell away.

“I’ll head for the Alienage,” Guardsman Lea piped up.  “I’ll round up as many as possible into the Elders’ homes.  We’ll wait there until you send an all-clear.”

Hawke spoke, “There’s an elf there – Merrill Sabrae?”

“I know her,” Guardsman Lea nodded, crisp.

“She’ll help you,” Hawke met her eyes.  “Go.  You’re already out of time.”  Lea took off at a run.

“I’ll head to Lowtown, Captain,” Donnic spoke clearly, meeting my eyes without a blush.

“Take at least a half dozen Guards with you,” I ordered, refusing to allow myself to worry about him.  Donnic could take care of himself… I hoped.  If we lived through this...  “Evacuate everyone to the Chantry – as far from the docks and Qun compound as you can get.  The fighting will be worse along the main roads to the Keep - so stay to the back alleys.  The Templars will likely be fighting their way from the Gallows - so concentrate on the areas they won’t be able to reach easily, first.”

“Yes’m,” he saluted, with a grin, and was gone, shouting names as he went.

“The rest of you,” I faced them down.  “I need volunteers to take a message to Knight-Captain Cullen, and does anyone know where the Grey Wardens are?”  A hesitant hand raised, and I pointed.  “You’ll take a message to them, then.  Take two others with you - go through Darktown, to avoid the worst of the fighting.  Beg for assistance - whatever they can offer.”  I looked them over.  “Be safe, all of you.  Protect our citizens.”

“What about Hightown, Guard Captain?”

I let my lip curl, “Their houses are made of stone.  Fire won’t breach them easily.  If they won’t go to the Chantry, then bring them here, or tell them to stay in their wine cellars.  It’s too late to leave the city.  If the Viscount has any sense remaining, he will drop the chains and close the docks.”  I sighed, “Just get them off the streets, if you can reason with the imbeciles.  If you can’t, they deserve what they get.”

“I’m off then,” Hawke lunged towards me in a hug.  Shocked, I was stiff, only folding myself around her when she started to pull away.  “You be safe, too, Aveline.”

“Me, take risks?”  I scoffed and held her by the shoulders.  “I should say the same to you - remember you’re just one woman?“

“I’ll kick his grey ass,” she grinned, fear behind her eyes, and drew her staff.  “If it all goes wrong, and you see Sebastian, tell him he’s a bastard, and I’ll haunt him from the Fade.”

I sighed, agreeing, but not understanding. “Get out of here.” I waved her away, outwardly nonchalant.  Inside, my innards quaked like we were making the trip from Gwaren again, all those years ago.  I closed my eyes, and then opened them, more determined.

I had a city to save.

So did she.  Our paths ran parallel, but had the same goal.

We could do this.  Whatever I had just told her – she wasn’t just one woman.  There were two of us.

Between the two of us, we  _ could  _ save Kirkwall.  From the Qun, maybe from the Void itself.

But as I ran off to march my remaining people into pandemonium, I couldn’t help but wonder;  What in the Maker’s name had that damn Brother said to her?

And did I really want to know?


	20. Change

Hawke healed while the city was busy erecting a Maker-damned statue in her honor. 

Anders hardly left her side in that time, though he was quick to assure us that no vital organs had been damaged.  Looking at her bloody near-corpse, though, I wondered how vital was vital, too scared to ask.

Most of us, except for Isabela who never bothered to apologize, haunted the first floor of her manor.  When she woke, it was like the Maker himself had turned on the sun and illuminated the world again after weeks of darkness.  It was like the Blight ending all over again.  The entire city rejoiced, and finally threw themselves into cleaning up.

Of course, that had drawbacks, too.  She couldn’t shop for groceries without being mobbed by thankful citizens.  She was invited to every party.  And she couldn’t go for a drink at the Hanged Man without dwarves trying to kidnap her.

To get away from the constant attention, she went to Orlais for a fancy party with Sebastian and Fenris and some elf I’d never heard of – leaving even Varric home, much to my surprise – and then, after returning, promptly took off again following some random lead to the Vimmarks that she hoped would explain why the Carta wouldn’t leave her the bloody hell alone.

She came back tanned, windblown, and thoughtful, with new nightmares dancing behind her eyes, but she told the stories easily enough, even laughing and joking about her father being a blood mage who’d locked up some talking darkspawn like something out of a horror novel.

In other words, a story completely unlike the one I was finally getting that night, almost a year after the Arishok’s attempted coup, after Isabela had disappeared from our lives for the sake of a bloody book.

Tonight, it was just the two of us sitting at her table, having a pint.  It felt like old times – though the talkative man proclaiming implausible stories about the Champion in the corner rather tainted things.  I narrowly resisted throwing something at him.  Beds of dragon bones, Andraste’s Blessed Knickers – on another night I would pull him in to the barracks and have a talk with him about libel and slander and keeping his mouth shut.  But there was no way I was going to stop Hawke from telling her story now.  Not for anything.

“Maker’s Breath,” I set down my mug, and stared at Hawke, who twisted her foot against the floor, embarrassed.  “Sebastian asked you to…” I felt an odd stab of envy.  Donnic was amazing, but he hadn’t breathed a word about…

Did I even want him to?

“If you can call it that,” her lip curled, not unlike the dog at her feet.  The Hanged Man – now all but owned by Varric, despite my unwillingness to help him with the matter – had long since stopped complaining about Dog.  He was better behaved than most of their clientele.

These days, he was better behaved than Hawke, if I was being brutally honest.  As the newly crowned ‘Champion of Kirkwall’, Hawke never had to buy her own alcohol, and it showed tonight.  That’s the only reason I was finally getting this particular story, I had no doubt.  

“What did he mean, a chaste marriage?  What kind of marriage is that?” Wesley and I had spent plenty of time apart, but when we were together, we were far from…

She snorted, interrupting my ruminations.  “Aveline, don’t you see?  He wanted to have his cake,” she waved her hand at herself, “And eat it too.  Only it was less about the eating me himself, and more about keeping me from being eaten by anyone else,” she leaned over the rough table, and it rocked towards her, “if you get my drift.”  She wrinkled her nose.  “I’m not made for chastity.”

“You really aren’t.”  I was relieved she’d had the personal insight to refuse him.

She drank, and waved Norah down for another, handing off the stein and accepting the next with still graceful movements.  “Tell me, what’s the bloody point of saying ‘yes’, then?”

“That idiot.”

“You’re telling me,” she rubbed her face, but not before I saw the glimpse of disappointment in her eyes.  “Aveline, it gets…” she shook her head.  “He wanted us to join the Chantry.  Together.”

My mouth was open, and I closed it, deliberately.  “You’re a mage.”

“With observational skills like that, it’s no wonder you run the Guard,” her wit was back, masking her pain, and she drank again.  “It’s like Mother, all over again. ‘Ignore the magic and it will go away.’” She snorted.  “Look how well that worked out.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Do?”  Her smile was bitter and didn’t melt the coldness in her eyes.  “I’m going to make his life miserable.  He doesn’t want me as I am, and doesn’t want anyone else to have me, either?  Then I’m going to make damn sure he knows exactly what he’s missing.”  The table rocked again.  “He thinks his life sucks now? I’m going to drive him clear to Starkhaven - where he should have been all along.”

“Is that such a good idea?”  I hesitated, “Maybe you two should just have a sit down, instead?”

She snorted, “Do I ever have good ideas?”  She took my silence for assent.  “It’s the only one I have.  He should leave the damn Chantry, leave Kirkwall.  He needs to get the Void away from me.  And I’m not bloody going anywhere.  This is  _ my  _ city.  I nearly fucking died for it.”

“That’s not what you want.”  Was it?

Her hair fell forward, concealing the truth in her eyes.  “When has it ever mattered what I want?  I didn’t want my father to have to buy his freedom and mine with blood magic.  I didn’t want to have his bloody magic at all.  I didn’t want to be noble.  I didn’t want to be the fucking Champion!  I didn’t want any of this!”  Her voice broke, and she left unspoken the one thing she had wanted, in all this mess.  I think I understood.  Hadn’t I been nearly as lonely?

“Hawke…” I hesitated, “Do you love Sebastian?”

“Love.”  She snorted again and stared into her cup.  The cacophony of chaos that was the Hanged Man echoed around us as I waited for her answer. 

It never came.  Instead, Varric plunged forward with cards, and Hawke, shaking off the mood like hair powder, agreed to a game of Wicked Grace.

Our games were different without Isabela.  I suspected that she couldn’t bear to face Hawke, but I had no proof that they’d been intimate with each other.  It didn’t matter – if they had, it hadn’t been enough for either.

Hawke relaxed with the addition of Varric’s company.  She had coin to spare in those days, luck was on her side, and her winnings racked up in front of her.

And then she froze, the Angel of Death poised to end the game.  It fluttered down to the table, to land askew the stack of discards.  Her now limp fingers formed a fist, that came crashing down on the rocking table.  “Damn him.  What’s he doing here?”

At the door to the inn stood Sebastian, his pristine armor as out of place as a fish in a hen house.  He spotted her, and two small circles appeared on his tanned cheeks.  He was no Donnic, but he was a handsome devil, I had to admit.

And a stupid one.  He made his way over to the table.  I glanced at Hawke, as indolent as Isabela had ever been, one leg draped over her chair arm.  At least she was wearing pants, for now.  “Well, if it isn’t the Prince of Starkhaven.”

He flinched, “Evening, Hawke.”

“Slumming it this fine evening?”  She plucked at the laces on her chest, and I averted my eyes.  “Or are you looking for something?  A date for the Evening Chant, perhaps?”

“I believe I’ve found it,” uninvited, the man had the audacity to draw up a chair.  “If you’ll deal me in, Varric?”

The dwarf exchanged a glance with me, alarmed.  “Are you sure you want to…”

“Let him play, Varric,” Hawke ordered, eyes dangerously bright.  “As long as he agrees to the stakes.”

Sebastian’s Maker’s Apple bobbed in his throat, but he hefted a weighty purse to the table, all the same.  “I came prepared.”

“That’s a lot of money for a man of the cloth,” Hawke leaned forward even further, nearly spilling out of her low bodice.  “I certainly hope you’re not making orphans go hungry to support a gambling habit?”

“I’m not a brother any longer,” Sebastian’s lips folded tight over his teeth.  “And the money is what I’ve earned with you over the last few years.  Why shouldn’t I use it how I like?”

“The Maker loves a saver,” Hawke quipped, smirking at him.  He flushed.  “But we’re not playing for money tonight, Your Highness.”

His eyes rested with some confusion at the pile of gold in front of her.  “But…”

“That was from earlier, and most of it is for Norah,” Hawke lied, and I closed my eyes.  “We long since started playing for clothes.”

“I’m out,” I announced, and shoved my chair back.

“I suppose Donnic wouldn’t approve?”  Hawke taunted.

“Donnic doesn’t give a damn,” I flashed back, quickly.  “He’d be sorry to miss the show.  But I’m not going to let Kirkwall see the Guard Captain’s assets.  And you’d better watch yourself, Hawke.  You’ve a reputation now, as the Champion.”  Sebastian had been quite the rogue once…

“Oh, I’ll watch, all right,” Hawke ran a single finger along her lips.  “Are you in… Your Highness?”

Sebastian nodded, eyes dark.  “This isn’t my first game of Wicked Grace.”

“Good.”  She grabbed the cards from Varric and dealt.  “To the Angel of Death, then!”  She raised her mug, laughing brokenly.  “Let’s play.”

I shook my head and rose.  “I’m going back to the barracks,” I told anyone who was listening.

“Don’t worry, Aveline,” Varric waved his hand at me.  “I’ll make sure she gets home.”  His forehead, normally smooth, wrinkled a little with worry but he shrugged easily enough.  “I’ll stop it if it goes too far.”

“See that you do.”

I slipped into the barracks a half an hour later, my head already aching from bad ale and stress.  “Guard Captain,” Donnic was leaning up against my door, and I felt the tension leave my shoulders immediately.  “You look like someone dunked you in cold water and forgot to wring you out.”

“Hawke,” was all I had to say as explanation as I unlocked the door to my quarters.  “How was your patrol?  Care for a cuppa?”

His arms caught around my middle as soon as the door swung shut.  “Uneventful, but I’ll find those bastards yet.  I know where they’re hiding, just not how to reach them.  I’ve a lead on an infiltrator.”  I leaned back against him, and he kissed my neck, tender.  “Now, why is Hawke making you come in on your night off looking like you’ve just done four shifts back to back?”

I shook my head, “Someone asked her to do something incredibly stupid, and she’s going to make him pay.  Apparently, her evil plot involves a great deal of drinking, sex jokes, risqué clothing, and insults to his manhood.”

“Not the Brother?”  His laughter rumbled into my ear.  “I knew he wasn’t the brightest torch in the square, but I didn’t think…”

“He asked her to join the Chantry.  With him.”  I offered reluctantly.  “Proposed marriage, even.”

Donnic pulled back, “The man is a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Why is that so unbelievable?”  I was riled up now, swinging my kettle almost violently over my fire.  “Why shouldn’t she marry?  Why shouldn’t she have a little happiness?  That bastard just had to couch it in the worst possible terms – completely in opposition to everything Hawke has ever fought for.  Her independence, her title, even her own –“ I broke off.  Hawke wouldn’t want Donnic to know about the lack of sex.  Too personal.  “That asshole is so used to his entitlement that he doesn’t see when other people don’t have it.”

“Hey, Aveline.” Donnic took my hand and spun me around to face him.  I placed my hands on his chest.  “You’ll hear no argument from me.”

I leaned into his chin.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just so…”

“I agree.  Don’t draw your sword on me?”  His smile was sweet.  “Tomorrow, you might miss me, after all.  I’m good for a few things, even if I am a man.”  I couldn’t help but laugh.  Donnic pulled back, to see me better, and brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes.  “Now, how can we work out some of that tension?”

I smiled, slowly, “I can think of a few things…”

“I’m all ears…”  He leaned closer, whispering in my ear, intimately. “Should I get the practice swords and meet you in the training square?”

I tilted my head back, my laughter too loud for the hour.  “Not what I had in mind.”

“Good,” Donnic worked his mouth down to my throat.  “Me, either.”

Later, we lay in my bed, curled around each other like herring in a tin.  “This is nice,” I admitted.

“It is,” he kissed what felt like every freckle on my shoulder.  “We should do this more often.”

I rolled over onto my back, letting the blanket pool below my breasts, and admiring his shoulders and arms.  “We do this every night, just about.”

“I could do without the ‘just about’,” Donnic admitted, low, and kissed my forehead.  “You are… admirable, Aveline.”

I closed my eyes, blissful, in that moment.  “So are you, love.”

“I like the sound of that, too.”


	21. King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I bent the rules on this one. I was originally going to show Aveline meeting King Alistair, but it didn't fit the plot of the story. So... instead it's more like a theme of ruling.
> 
> It's my story, I can do what I want with the prompt?

“So, there she was,” Varric was barely managing to tell the story of the Duke de Montfort’s untimely demise, “standing atop the mountain courtyard, the Duke hanging by his last knuckle and begging for his life.  And our Hawke kneels down and zaps him with a bolt of pure lightning.”  He mimed a toss of something across the table.  “And then Hawke turned, and…” he paused for impact, “then, she said, ‘Looks like the Duke has fallen from grace.’”

Merrill tittered, and even Fenris, who had been there when it happened, huffed a small laugh.

“Wait-“ Donnic paused over his ale, the Wicked Grace cards spread out in front of him, eyes wide.  “Lightning?”  I froze, casting a guilty look at Hawke, who merely chewed on her lip, thoughtfully.  Donnic turned to me, eyes accusing.  I flinched.  “Are you telling me Hawke… your Hawke, The Champion of Kirkwall, defeater of the Arishok, liberator of the city, is a MAGE?  Why didn’t you tell me?”

I stared at him, contrite.  Had he really not known… we hadn’t even been subtle.  Not since the gang outbreaks.

To my left, Varric started to laugh, and then the whole table, besides me, joined in.

“This is no laughing matter,” I hissed, and then realized.  “You knew.  You utter bastard, you knew!”

“Hard to miss, love,” Donnic grinned, tankard in hand.  “Angel of Death,” he tossed the card down on the table.  “Fork ‘em over, all of you.  Four Serpents.”

“How long?”

He shrugged, “I wondered when we met at the docks.  You pretty much confirmed it when you wouldn’t tell me why Hawke kept you out all night, if you weren’t sleeping together.”

“Donnic!”

“You pay me to be observant, love.”

Hawke slammed her own mug down, hard enough for the dubious liquid to slosh over the edge, sniggering.  “Wait, I’ve got to hear this.”  She gestured at me, and I felt myself flush.  “You thought,” she struggled to get her face under control.  “That Aveline and I… were…” she couldn’t get it out, dissolving into a strangled sort of laughter.  “Oh, Maker’s Breath, that’s-”

“Impossible,” I glared at her.  “Hawke is the last person I would ever…”

“Oh, it’s possible, Ave.” Hawke sat up, proud. “I’ll have you know I’m a wonderful lover.  I could show you things you’ve never even dreamed of.”

I stared at my cards, trying to find my composure, ignoring that the hand was over.  “You’re not my type.”

Varric snorted.

“I’m everyone’s type!” Hawke protested, for once not even looking at Sebastian, who was watching with narrowed eyes, his lips twisting with not so hidden amusement.  “Shut up, Varric.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.  You might have a permanent hard-on for Bianca, but you’re the exception that makes the rule.”  Hawke stood and struck what she no doubt thought of as a sensual pose.  “I’m gorgeous, and I can do this thing with my tongue that even our Guard Captain wouldn’t be able to…”

Anders coughed, his face bright red.

Sebastian’s face darkened, “Perhaps you should curtail the tales of your exploits before your pet abomination combusts,” he managed.

Hawke glanced at Anders and had the grace to settle back in her chair.  “Just saying,” she picked up her cards again.

Merrill piped up, “I would sleep with you, Hawke.  You’re very pretty.”

Hawke smiled, somewhat mollified, “Thank you, Merrill.”  She side-eyed Sebastian.  “At least someone admits it.”  She leaned forward on her arms.  “I’d bet everyone at this table wants me.  With the exception of Donnic and Varric, of course.”

“Apparently not Aveline,” Merrill piped up.  “It’s okay that you’re straight, though, Aveline.  I don’t mind!”

I clenched my jaw, but Anders beat me to the response.  “Are we playing or flirting?”  He leaned across the table closer to Hawke, sunken eyes twinkling, “Because if we’re flirting, I’ve got hidden talents, too.”

“Rein it in, Blondie,” Varric said.  Fenris snorted.  “We’re playing, right?  Donnic, you tossed the Angel with Four Serpents in play?”

Donnic nodded, and Varric elbowed Fenris to get him moving on the next hand.  “You have the weirdest circle of friends, love,” he didn’t bother to whisper.

“I know,” I sighed, while Fenris gathered the cards together to deal the next hand.  “But they’re family.  I can’t get rid of them now.”  He squeezed my knee under the table, and we smiled at each other.  “I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered.  “They’re behaving better than they usually do.”

“No secrets!” Hawke announced clearly.  “If you two lovebirds can’t keep your hands off each other, there are rooms down the hall.”

Donnic pretended to think, and then shook his head.  “Tempting, but I think she’d run me through if I didn’t let her win the next hand, after that joke.”

“Probably,” I took a sip of my beverage, glad that we were back on safer ground.

And then I got a glimpse of Sebastian’s dark glower.  I caught Varric’s eye and inclined my head towards him.  “Choir Boy, you’re up.”

Sebastian pressed his lips together and played, but his eyes were still dark, and kept moving back to Hawke.  I endeavored to change the subject, “Hawke, has anything come of that petition to make you Viscount?”

“Bran is trying to block it,” she shrugged.  “Can’t say that I mind too much.  I don’t think I’m suited for that kind of responsibility.”

“How can you say that?” Sebastian exploded, and Merrill scooted her chair back in surprise.  “You’ve been given a great gift…”

“It’s in the Chant,” Hawke’s face turned nearly purple.  “You’ve quoted it to me often enough, haven’t you?  ‘Magic is meant to serve man, not to…”

Sebastian rose, nostrils flaring, “Am I supposed to be pleased that you remember?”  He tossed the rest of his cards down on the table.  “Norah can have my winnings,” he spat.  “I’m going…” he paused, a flash of insecurity crossing his face.  “I’m going…”

“To Starkhaven?”  Hawke threw her cards down too.  “That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?  I’d say it was about time.”

“Don’t fight,” Merrill protested.  “Please.  We were having such a nice-“

“Perhaps I will!”  The Prince spat back.  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  He stomped out.

“Maybe you should go after him, Hawke,” Varric prompted after a few seconds.

“Is this  _ my _ fault?  I wasn’t the one who…” Hawke hesitated and then rose.  “Fine.”

I frowned at her back as she left, and Donnic nudged me.  “Aveline… maybe…” he paused, “They were both very angry.”

“Sebastian wouldn’t…” I rethought what I was about to say.  “All right.  I’ll just check on them, then.”

The alley behind the Hanged Man was clear except for two shadows, one of which towered over the other.  “Don’t you see, Hawke,” Sebastian said, clear and controlled.

Neither was in any danger, but something kept my feet still, instead of making my way back inside.

“I see a man who would make a good leader,” Hawke’s voice was breaking.  “He makes mistakes, like all of us, but he-“

“I see the same thing in you,” his voice was more strident.  “If you’d step up, take the crown…”

Hawke choked, audibly, but Sebastian wasn’t done.  “The Champion of Kirkwall could become the Viscount,” he finished.  “And the Viscount of Kirkwall and the Prince of Starkhaven… that would be a powerful alliance.”

Hawke’s voice caught on her words.  “’Bastian, are you suggesting…”

“Think on it.”  Sebastian leaned in, but then backed away.  “I’m going-“

“Back to the Chantry?”

He shook his head.  “There is no going back.”

“Where will you stay?”

Sebastian shrugged, “Tomorrow I’ll ask Fenris if I can stay with him for a while.  I have some letters to write, and I need to contact my supporters…”

“You’re going to leave?”  Her voice broke.

He hesitated, “Not right away.  There are things to do, aye?  And Elthina won’t leave her flock, despite everything.  I can’t abandon her now.”

“What about me?”

He stared at her, his body swaying, before he turned away again.  “Just think about it, Hawke.”  He walked away then, shoulders bowed.  I watched him go, confused.

I’d never seen them like this.  Together, with so much separating them.  Was it even possible?

“You might as well come out, Aveline,” Hawke said, after a moment.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” I made my voice apologetic.  “Just wanted to be sure neither of you took the violent path.”

“It’s okay.”  She looked upward, where the stars would be, if there were any to be seen.  “I don’t mind that you heard.  And I’m… grateful.  He makes me so… angry.”  She sounded more sad than anything.

“What are you going to do?”

She shrugged.  “I can’t tell if he means it.”  She turned back, smile crooked, her eyes wet.  I could see the beginnings of small lines at the corners, lit up by the torches.  “Don’t tell anyone, but he has a better Wicked Grace face than I do.”

“I doubt that.”

She laughed.  “Well, thank you.”  She took my arm.  “You really are a great friend.”

I sighed, exaggerating the sound.  “You don’t make it easy.”

“I know.” She squeezed.  “Come on.  We’d better get in there before Varric declares your winnings forfeit.”  She paused, “And I want to separate Sebastian’s.  He’ll want them, if he’s serious.  Coups take a lot of gold.”  Her feet stopped just short of the door.  “Do you think I should try to become Viscount?”

I hesitated, “What do you think?”

“I think I’d be awful.” Her voice broke.  “But if…” she shook her head.  “I just don’t know.  It… might be worth it.  I could do some good, maybe.”

I spoke slowly, “I think you shouldn’t sell your soul for the sake of someone else’s approval.”  Her head shot up, but her face was in shadow.  “I think you’d regret it, if you did.”  I continued, even slower.  “You could do things for the mages, it’s true.  But the Knight-Commander is very used to having the Viscount under her thumb.  How much influence you’d have would depend on how much she let you have.”

Hawke’s mouth was open.  “I… hadn’t thought of that.”

“But if Meredith was gone…” I shuddered.  “Well, we shouldn’t say that too loud.  Anders might hear, and Justice would get ideas.”

Hawke’s eyes were thoughtful as she nodded.

We went back inside, but the thoughts wouldn’t leave me.

Kirkwall would look very different with Hawke as Viscount.  Meredith was as mad as a hatter.  It rubbed me the wrong way to even consider what amounted to regicide, but… in this case, perhaps it was justified.

Kirkwall needed a leader.  Maybe that leader was Hawke.


	22. Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My day has sucked, so I'm breaking my usual rule of never posting on weekends to distract myself.

I slipped into my office at the barracks, unlocking the door, unsurprised to find Hawke waiting for me, with a letter.  “Was it Varric or Sebastian picking the locks this time?”  I asked, drily.  “Didn’t see either on the way in.”

She didn’t answer.  “Delivery for the Guard Captain,” she saluted, lips smug. 

“What’s this?”  I took it from her, instantly suspicious.

“Don’t know, it was given to Bodahn this morning,” she grinned wider.  “But I await your orders, Captain.”

The letter was brief.

WE HAVE WHAT YOU LOVE.  COME TO THE WOUNDED COAST BY THE SUNKEN SHIP, IF YOU WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN.

“What’s this about?”

Hawke rolled her eyes.  “Aveline, turn off your brain, for a moment, will you?”

“Something I love?”  I blanched.  “Where’s…”  Donnic wasn’t on duty.  And wasn’t here to meet me, either.  In two years, he’d never once missed…

I grabbed Wesley’s shield, and then, carefully, set it down, to pick up the shield Hawke had given me instead.  I needed all the protection I could get, if they had…

They had better hope they hadn’t.  My feet moved of their own accord, up the steps of the Keep, and into the foyer.  Out the main door, to the gates of the city.

“Where are we going?”  Hawke asked.

“The Wounded Coast,” I gritted out, my feet breaking into a run.

“Aveline…” she panted, right behind me.  “Are you taking this seriously…”

“Dead seriously,” I walked faster.

We were out the Keep’s eastern gate before she could finish, and I drew my sword and ran, ran without thinking to the remains of the ship.  I stood there, on the edge of the Coast, scanning the horizon, the wind from the Waking Sea whipping my hair around my face.  “Where…”

A soft cough from behind me made me spin, “Donnic!”  I grabbed him by the shoulders, my face fierce, my sword dropped in the sand, no doubt already rusting from the salt.  “They didn’t hurt you, did they?  I swear, if they’ve even  _ touched _ you…”

He sunk to one knee in the soft sand and held out his hand.  In the center of his palm was a copper ring, engraved with small circular flowers.  I stared at it, and at his face, my mind blank.  “What… where are the Raiders?”

“May I speak freely, Serah?”

Only then did the copper drop.  I choked, “Donnic?“ He smiled, crooked and charming.  I touched the ring, gently.  “Go on, then.”

“Guard Captain, I’d like to suggest a double patrol.”  His chest rose and fell, his eyes sincere.  “And thereafter, a permanent partnership.  Copper is tough, a birdie told me…” his eyes were hopeful.  “And marigolds…”

“Are soft,” I whispered, and held out my hand.  He slipped the ring on, his hand tightening on mine.  “Donnic, I-”

“Marry me?  Respectfully, of course, Guard Captain.”

My voice failed me, so I grabbed his collar and hefted him upright, and kissed him, my mouth slanting across his in what I hoped was an unmistakable answer.  I thrust him away from myself, when I heard cheering.  “That  _ ass _ .”

“What, mine?”  His cheeks were pink with amusement.

“No.  Them.  All of them.  Asses, plural.  Hawke, Varric, you might as well come out.”  I began to laugh.  “You’re all in on this.”

They emerged from the bushes – not just Hawke and Varric, but Sebastian and Merrill and Fenris… even Lea, Donnic’s partner… “I didn’t expect you to take it so seriously, Aveline,” Hawke started to explain.  “I was sure you’d seen through the whole charade…”

“You…” Donnic roared.  “You actually thought Raiders had kidnapped me?  Honestly, love, where’s your confidence in my abilities?”  Lea giggled through her fingers.

“What was I to expect?”  I hissed, “You’ve been angling for this patrol for weeks, knowing we were just a hairsbreadth away from stopping the jewelry thieves…” I stopped.  “Good Lord.  There were no… You’ve been planning this for months, haven’t you?  All those reports from Lords and ladies I’d never heard of – they were fake?!”  I whacked him, hard.  “I should… court martial you!”

“You won’t though.”  He was as smug as a Mabari, as he caught me around the waist.  “Because you love me.  You wouldn’t have come, otherwise.”

I drooped, then, hiding my face in his chest.  “For my sins – yes.”

“Well, that’s settled, then!”  Hawke piped up.  “Maker’s Breath, if you two didn’t seal the deal soon, I was going to murder someone, just to find out if Varric’s book was a tragedy or a romance.  Not enough people have been shivved, yet.”

Sebastian snickered, softly.  “I think you have your answer now, Hawke.”

She looked at him, narrowly, “The jury’s still out on that one, ‘Bastian.”  She turned away. “We’ll just leave you two lovebirds alone with yourselves, then.”  She turned back, feigning innocence.  “Oh, and Aveline, is it a good time to tell you that I forged your name to fill in your patrols with inexperienced recruits, just to give you the rest of the day off?  You’ll have a lovely mess to take care of when you get back to the barracks in the morning.  Just the way you like it!”

“In the…” I jerked my head up.  “Where am I going to be tonight?”

She winked, and left, but Donnic lifted a heavy key from his pocket.  “I… I bought something.”  He cleared his throat.  “Care to see it?”

I stared at it, and then at him.  “Guardsman…”

“I figured it was time to move out of the barracks.”  He grinned.  “Noise travels something awful through the walls.  I was getting tired of Brennan’s cheeky comments.  You’re rather noisy, love.”

I took the key to shut him up.  “I’m not the only noisy one.”  I stroked the teeth with a thumb.  “Let’s go see what you’ve found us.”  My eyes were watering.  The barracks felt like home, but… perhaps it was past time to move on.  A married officer couldn’t live like a single one…

Sweet Maker, was I really going to do this?  AGAIN?  After what happened the last time…

Donnic wasn’t Wesley.  The Blight was over.  I repeated that phrase.  It didn’t make me feel better.

But he took my hand anyway, and we made our way back through the city, together, weaving in and out through Hightown, to Lowtown, turning before we got to the street where his mother lived.  A well paved street of townhouses, sunlit in the midmorning sun.  I closed my eyes, tilting my face up like a sunflower, to follow the rays.

“We’re here,” he said, low, stopping.  I opened my eyes again.  “I didn’t think you want one of the fancy places in Hightown.  Waste of money and upkeep?”  His voice sounded hopeful.

It wasn’t extravagant, like Hawke’s mansion, or opulent, like Varric’s rooms.  It was a skinny two-story townhouse with shutters and window boxes filled with… “Marigolds?” I breathed, cheeks pinking.

“Is the joke overdone?”  Donnic laughed and picked me up with barely an ‘oof’.  “Come on, Guard Captain.  I want to show you the bedroom.”

“I’ll bet,” I tried to make my voice stern, but my authority was compromised by laughter.  “Get on with it, Guardsman.”

“I intend to, Aveline.”  He set me down just inside, and swung the door shut after us.  “I intend to.”  He lifted his head from mine, just before meeting my lips.  “A request for clarification, Guard Captain – that was a ‘yes’, to the partnership?”

I closed my eyes, so happy I thought my heart would burst with the joy.  “Request granted, Guardsman.”  I kissed him, smiling.  “What about that promotion?”

“I’m very happy where I am, Serah.  Happier than I’ve ever been.”

It took us a while to make it to the bedroom.  Because really, so was I.


	23. Child

I watched Elthina watch Hawke watch her, the next time her work took her to the Chantry.  The Revered Mother blessed her, as we left, when Hawke wasn’t looking.  It was sneaky, and yet well-intentioned, I thought.

Despite his stated intentions of leaving, Sebastian was still staying there, in his small room, eating meals with the other brothers and sisters.  He no longer heard confessions or presided over the services.  Now, he seemed to be just another supplicant seeking guidance and absolution.  More of a pilgrim, perhaps?

Watching the Revered Mother, sadness and resignation in her eyes, I realized why he hadn’t left.

Sebastian had been with her since he was exiled at thirteen.  She was more of a mother to him than the deceased Princess Consort of Starkhaven had ever been.  She’d been there when he left the first time, and then when he returned.  She hadn’t rejected him like his own family, but been patient, and helped him try to find his own path.

It explained why exactly the Prince of Starkhaven struggled with this decision.  Leaving the Chantry felt like rejection of Elthina, not merely his own vows.  However useless I personally found the Revered Mother, she was still the only true family Sebastian had left, beyond Hawke’s group of friends.

And Hawke hadn’t been precisely welcoming to a certain prince in recent days.  None of us had, except for Fenris.  Her impatience with his seeming indecision grew daily, if not hourly.

I wondered, if I tried to explain, if Hawke would listen.  Her tolerance of the Revered Mother was greater than mine.  But both were united in their affections for the blighted former brother that continued to muck about in their lives while he tried to figure out what to do with his own.

Hawke had spoken with Varric about the possibility of being Viscount, but no further rumors had crossed my desk.  Her work continued the same as before – good deeds mixed with mercenary work, with an odd job trying to help mages escape the Gallows or the Free Marches here and there.

Her life was a mess.

Family was – had been – important to Sebastian, just as it was important to Hawke.  She still tried to stay in touch with her brother, despite the danger.  Letters were few and far between in the other direction, but she tried with him, as she rarely did with anyone else she’d known before Kirkwall.

But family for Sebastian, if he ever got off his ass and left for Starkhaven, would be a different thing.

Templars were not allowed children.  It didn’t bother me – as I had told both Sebastian and Fenris, I didn’t want any.  Fenris had teased me after our engagement dinner, “I imagine five red-haired giants, each able to lift a cow.”

“If Donnic is willing to carry them for nine months and raise them to adulthood, he’s welcome,” I had shot back.

Donnic had never mentioned wanting children.  Something to bring up… preferably before the wedding.  The date loomed ever closer, and I wasn’t nervous with as simple a celebration that we had planned.  We were going to slip away to the Chantry in the morning and have a small breakfast after at our home with our friends.  Quiet.  Calm.  Absolutely no fanfare or drama.

It would be perfect.  And after, I’d have him.  For always.

I eyed Sebastian and Hawke again, wondering.  The marriage of the Champion of Kirkwall and the Prince of Starkhaven would be an affair indeed.  No simple breakfasts for that pair.  It would likely be a three-day affair with feasts and presents from monarchs.  It might even mean a blessing for a fruitful marriage from the Divine.  Hawke wouldn’t take that well.

I was borrowing trouble.

I hoped so.  Mages didn’t usually have children – they were taken away when they did.  Hawke and her dead sister were the exception.  Hawke had told me that while she’d been trained by her father, mostly, that when Bethany emerged as a mage a representative had turned up from the Mage Underground to help with the task, at her father’s request. To determine whether either of them were a threat.

But heirs would be expected from the Prince of Starkhaven.  Was Hawke prepared for that?

But maybe it was none of my business.

I’d watched them both with the bodies of the children that escaped the Circle, Hawke crying over them as she built their pyre and Sebastian sent them to the Maker.  She was gentle with their remains, as she wasn’t with the others.  Even Feynriel, who was hardly an infant, was treated carefully by Hawke, when she sent him first to the Dalish, warning against the hard life and loneliness, and again when she sent him to Tevinter.

She would be an excellent mother, I realized.  Caring and careful, and still letting her children try their wings, as she had never been allowed by Leandra. 

I made my way home that evening, thoughtful.  I let Donnic assume I was tired and prepare our evening meal, laying it in front of me with a kiss on my head.  I picked at it.

“Under the weather, love?”

I laid down my fork.  Best just to rip the bandage off.  “Do you want children?”

He raised a single eyebrow, “What brought this on?”

“Templars aren’t allowed children.  But it still happens, occasionally.”  Ser Thrask’s daughter, dead on a warehouse floor slipped into my mind.  “They tend to be mages.  The lyrium exposure, I assume.”  It was easier to talk about as a hypothetical.

Donnic turned the question back on me.  “Do you want them?”

I shuddered, “No?”

“Then I’ll live.”  He went back to his dinner.  “I’d never really thought about it.”

“What, never?”

“Before you came along, I was a confirmed bachelor,” Donnic’s eyes creased with kindness.  “Mam long since gave up on grandkids.”

“Oh.”  I hadn’t thought about his mother’s opinion.  “Will she be… disappointed?”

“Unlikely,” he snorted into his plate.  “She’s often told me I’m more trouble than I’m worth.”

“She dotes on you.”

“Doesn’t mean she wants to spoil another generation.  She has enough to do.”  He rolled his eyes.  “I wasn’t an easy one to raise.  In more trouble than I was out of it.  Can’t even count the number of times I was hauled home by a Guard.”

I barked a short laugh, “You?”

He grinned.  “Knew the barracks so well by the time I was grown that I figured I might as well live there.”  He covered my hand.  “It’s fine, Aveline.  What we have is enough.”

My eyes pricked.  “You’re a good man, Donnic.”

“I know,” his lips were smug as he hid them behind his mug.  “Want another cuppa?”

“Always.”


	24. Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, and Blessed Samhain!

“Thank you, Sister.”

“My pleasure, Guard Captain.  We’ll see you in a few days, then?”

I nodded and took my leave.  I had just finalized our arrangements with the Chantry Sister performing our ceremony in three days time.  It was traditional for both parties to confess separately and have a quiet chat with the Sister or Mother who would give the blessings, and I had been dreading it a bit, after the revelations that had come with Wesley.

There were no secrets that came out this time, though, just a generic kindness and well-wishing from the Sister after she was convinced that Wesley was, indeed, confirmed dead in the Blight.  Apparently there had been a recent rush of people who hadn’t actually been widowed, so much as abandoned or left themselves, in the confusion, and the Chantry was exerting due diligence. 

It was… nice to have no complications, either from me or Donnic.  Wesley’s mother had other hopes than a lady knight for her son – she would almost have had him not marry at all or remain faithful to Andraste.

Utter nonsense.

The thought of vows made me pause as I was about to leave the Chantry, and instead turned right away from the offices towards the living quarters for the Sisters and Brothers.  I nodded to the clergy as they made their way about their business and knocked on Sebastian’s slightly ajar door gently.  There was no answer.  “Sebastian?”  I pushed it open, to reveal him stuffing what looked like a miniature under his mattress.  “Contraband?”  I asked lightly, leaning up against the doorframe.

“Guard Captain,” his cheeks flushed.  “No.  Not at all.  Just… keeping it safe.”  He pulled it out again, hiding his guilt rather well, I thought, and handed it to me.

“A mattress is hardly protective,” I observed, taking the portrait.  A tall, dark haired woman looked back at me, no one I recognized.  “Who…”

“My grandmother,” he admitted, lowly.  “Mother Elthina returned it to me, when I left the Chantry.”

“This time?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted, not without embarrassment.  At least he knew he’d been waffling, then.  “She’d kept this for me, along with a few others.  Brothers aren’t supposed to have material possessions, but – she bent the rules.”

“I don’t see what having a family portrait matters,” I agreed, mentally chalking a point up to the Revered Mother.  “The frame is pretty enough but wouldn’t fetch much gold for the Chantry’s charities.”

“True enough,” Sebastian sighed.

“What were the others?”  I asked, slowly.

Sebastian stood and closed his door, and I nodded in approval.  Even in the Chantry, there could be thieves.  He lifted his mattress and pulled out a pouch of flat objects.  He handed them to me, one by one.

A girl with flaming red hair.  “I see the likeness.”

“My brother’s second daughter.”  He smiled, his eyes sad.  “It would be her birthday next month.  Thirteen.  Practically a lady, not that you’d catch her in a dress.  She used to beg me to teach her to use a bow… back when I was still allowed to visit.”

A stern man in armor styled like Sebastian’s.  “Your father?”

“Grandfather,” his voice was even lower.  “He was an excellent man - the reason I’m here.  Why I came back.”  He looked up at me, a little desperate.  “Aveline, you’re… honorable.  And you know Hawke better than anyone, other than Varric.”

“So they tell me,” I sighed, preparing myself for an uncomfortable conversation.

“What do you think I should do?”

I hesitated, and his face darkened.  “About Hawke or Starkhaven?”

“Both.”  He swallowed.  “I…”

“Do you love her?”

“I… think so.”

“Then leave,” I handed him back his grandfather’s portrait.  “Hawke can’t risk everything she has built here on anything less than a sure thing.”

“Does she…”

I was blunt, too blunt, but I couldn’t stop talking.  He’d asked, after all.  “I don’t think you two have given each other enough time to figure it out.  But if she were here now, asking me like you are, I’d tell her that you can’t change yourself for someone else.  It’s impossible.  And someone that loves you won’t ever ask, either.”

“I’m not asking her to change…”

“Aren’t you?  Didn’t you already?”

He blinked, staring at the portrait in his hand.  “I… think I understand.”

“Good.”  I cleared my throat.  “I think she wants to be with you.  Whether that’s lust, or love, or a mix of both-“ His eyes darkened for a moment, but I pressed on, “I don’t know. I’m fairly sure she doesn’t either.  But you can’t ask her to stop being a mage.  You can’t ask her to step into the viscount’s throne, not when it means working with Meredith.” 

_ The Order demands…  _ Wesley’s voice echoed in my head.   _ Magic is meant to serve man, not rule over him...  _

Sebastian’s head snapped up, “And if Meredith were gone?”

“Don’t say that too loud,” I hissed.  “Especially not here.”  It wasn’t so long ago that this very man had killed all of Flint Company for murdering his family… I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake.

His mouth turned down, “Surely everyone sees…”

“Everyone does NOT see,” I stepped closer, biting the words off in the back of my throat.  “If everyone saw, she’d be beheaded in the Gallows courtyard, after a trial about her abuses.  If everyone saw, Knight-Captain Cullen would have already deposed her.”  I gestured, a little wildly.  “Kirkwall is headed for a shitshow the likes of which has never been seen in Thedas since Andraste’s time.  It’s going to be worse than the Arishok.  Worse than Starkhaven’s Circle burning.  And Meredith and the Chantry and Hawke are at the center of it all.  I only hope it stops with them, too.”

He had the sense to take me seriously at least.  “What do you think is going to happen?”

I shook my head, “I don’t know.  But I’m preparing my Guard.  Kirkwall was not meant to be ruled by the Templars.  It’s a mistake for the nobles to allow it to happen, but Hawke is the only viscount candidate even mentioned recently.”  And she wasn’t the right one.  But I wasn’t going to say that to her… whatever Sebastian was.

“Anders,” his voice was bitter. “He’d better not be dragging Hawke through any…”

“Put your damned jealousy aside for a moment,” I snapped.  “You know Hawke.  If he asks her to do anything, she’ll make up her own damned mind.”

His eyes softened, along with the lines around them.  I forgot, sometimes, that he was older than most of our little group.  “So she will,” he actually smiled, fondly.

I’d never really seen this side of him before.  It was… almost endearing.

“Knock-knock!  Hope you aren’t decent!”  Hawke opened the door, and jerked backwards, “I didn’t expect to find you here, Aveline.”

“I didn’t expect to be here myself.  Just stopped by after my interview with the Sister.”  Sebastian had recovered himself, and was sorting out the family pictures again, to be put back in the sack.  “You?”

“Oh, just having a little chat with Mother Elthina,” she shrugged.  “As usual, we don’t speak the same language.  So I thought I’d see if Sebastian could come and interpret?”

Sebastian laughed a little.  “Of course, Hawke.”

She stepped in further, gesturing at the collection of miniatures. “What have we here?  Evidence of more broken hearts?”

“My… family,” he looked up at her, and I realized the truth, as I backed out the door.

Sebastian, for all his sins and flaws, loved her.  I couldn’t tell if it was mutual – Hawke hid her feelings better, even as she laughed over the portrait of his niece.  “Are you sure she’s not yours?”

“Quite sure,” he managed to laugh.  “My sister in law was NOT the straying type.”

“Are you saying you tried?”

“I’m saying the woman petrified me.  Maker help the man who ended up with her.”

“I like her already,” Hawke laughed.  “And aren’t you asking the Maker to help your brother?  Bit late, isn't it?”  His chuckles filled the room as I left them behind me.

I hoped that the Maker would help them both.  No one else would.


	25. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be done by August.
> 
> It's November.
> 
> I'm within a few chapters of finishing it off now. Trying to make the final push.

“What do you mean, the Sister is sick?”  I stood at the altar, all my authority on display.  “She was in perfect health three days ago!”  Hawke rolled her eyes and strolled up the left hand stairs to the balcony.  I didn’t want to know what or who she was looking for – but I could guess.

“I’m sorry, but it does happen,” the novice apologized.

“Is there anyone else available?”  The desperation in my voice carried, I knew, making my voice shriller than I would like.

“Aveline!”  Sebastian wove downstairs elegantly from the other direction.  I clenched my jaw.  But at least Hawke was on the other side of the building, no doubt poking her nose where she didn’t belong…  “I thought I’d miss you entirely, things are so… hectic here.  The Maker’s blessing on your special day.”

“Not feeling exactly blessed at the moment,” I said through my teeth.  Behind me, Donnic chuckled, and cupped my waist with his hand.  Fenris grunted and went off to pay his respects to Andraste.

“Oh no, not Sister Lorena too?”  Sebastian asked the novice, with a note of desperation in his voice.  “Sister Angelica?  Mother Ressa?  Brother Plinth?”

“Most of the Chantry’s down, Your Highness, Guard Captain,” the woman simpered, looking up at him through her eyelashes.  “It’s unavoidable.  Probably seeped up through Darktown.”  I tightened my jaw further.  “Maybe the Guard Captain could come back another day?  When we’ve all recovered?”

“I don’t have another day.  We leave for Orlais tomorrow morning.”  On the first vacation I’d allowed myself to take in years, though I didn’t see the point of drawing attention to it.  Donnic and I knew if we spent our honeymoon in Kirkwall, I’d end up at the barracks, despite his best efforts.

“I know you’ve done the interviews,” Sebastian tried to soothe me.  “The vows are just a formality, more for the couple than the Chantry.  Perhaps after you get back-”

“We’ll be gone the full month.” My voice was flat and unforgiving.  “What, are we supposed to masquerade as a married couple for all that time?”

Sebastian hesitated.  “Anyone here can sign the papers…”

“That would be fine if ‘anyone’ was available,” I pushed out.  “Novice Adele here claims that everyone is ‘otherwise occupied’ or ill.”

Sebastian hesitated, and then looked at the novice.  “Would you excuse us, Adele?”

“Of course,” she put an extra swing in her backside as she left, but it was wasted on Sebastian, who was pinching his nose in inner debate. 

His voice was quiet. “I am sorry, Guard Captain.  I know how long you’ve been planning this.”

“Why is everyone ill?”  Donnic was kinder than I, hardly upset about the disruption at all.

“Food poisoning.  It’s not contagious, whatever the uneducated may believe.”  Sebastian looked up.  “I don’t care for mushrooms, so I didn’t have the pie at dinner last evening.  I, and a handful of others, escaped.”  He pressed his lips together.  “As I see it, there is only one thing to do.”  He straightened to his full height. “Will you let me marry you?”

“What?”  My shock echoed off the empty tiled walls.

“In… extreme situations, Brothers are allowed to do such things,” he was having problems looking at me.  “I know we’re not close, but I know that Mother Elthina would want me to do this.  I will make sure the paperwork is signed immediately after she recovers – today, if possible - so that I can deliver the license to you at the dock tomorrow.  I’d do no more than listen to your vows.  The Maker will understand.”

“I…” I looked at Donnic, at a loss.  “Donnic?”

“Can’t see that it makes a difference,” he shrugged.  “We’re leaving on that boat-“

“Ship,” I corrected.

“Ship tomorrow, whether we’re really married or not.  It would be nice to make the sex legal, though.”  His grin was contagious, but I shoved him anyway.  Sebastian coughed.  “I don’t suppose anyone in Orlais would care one way or another.  Whole country is full of deviants.  Why Ave wants to go…”

“I’ve always wanted to visit Val Royeaux,” I was going to break a tooth if I ground my teeth any harder.  “And you’re one to talk about deviants…”

Sebastian coughed again.  “Follow me.”  He glanced around and smiled.  “We’ve the whole place to ourselves.  Let’s do this properly, shall we?”

We trailed behind him to the dais, where he positioned himself in front of Andraste, with the copy of the Chant of Light just to his immediate right.  He bent and retrieved a smaller volume from the shelves beneath.  The book fell open, and he shook his head, flipping the pages.  “Sad, that it falls open to the funeral services,” he murmured, his brogue slightly thicker.  “Such is Kirkwall, I suppose.  More funerals than weddings or births.”  He looked up, eyes dark.  “Where are your witnesses?”

“I’m here,” Hawke called from the balcony, popping her head over the railing.  “’Bastian, you’ll never guess what I found in your storerooms.  But Fenris is…”

“Here,” a gruffer voice answered, rising from the candles halfway down the aisle.

“Then we can begin.”  Hawke made her way down the stairs, and Sebastian cleared his throat.  “Sorry – I’ve… never done a wedding before.  Never expected to.”

“A fine time to start then,” Hawke grinned at him, wickedly.  “Wouldn’t you say?  I need to hear all the dirty little details about their wedding trip.  I have to live vicariously through someone, after all.”  Sebastian colored, embarrassed, but turned his head back to the pages dutifully enough. 

The words of the service echoed through the largely empty hall, and I shook a little while he intoned the blessing.  Donnic’s hand steadied me.  It was my turn first – “I vow before Andraste and the Maker to love this man as long as I live.”  Donnic squeezed my hand, and I thought I saw a tear at the corner of his eye.

“I vow, by Andraste,” he stumbled over the words, but he hadn’t had the benefit of prior practice, “to love this woman as long as I live.”  I closed my eyes and let the words wash over me.

“Sweet talker,” I murmured, and squeezed his hand back.

There were no rings – such things weren’t necessary, and I usually wore the engagement ring he gave me around my neck to keep it out of the way.  That left space for more useful items that helped in combat.  So I smiled at Sebastian and opened my mouth to thank him, but he coughed, again, instead.

“Are you sure you’re not sick?” Hawke sounded almost concerned.

“I’m… quite well.  Just…” Sebastian colored, and then gestured with his hands, bringing them together in a strange cupping motion.  I stared at them, unfamiliar with this blessing…

“I’m supposed to do this,” Donnic laughed, too loud for the Chantry, and drew me closer.

He was kissing me before I could stop him, right in front of our friends…

And I didn’t give a bloody damn what anyone thought about it.  I grabbed his face and kissed him back – only harder.  And longer.  Because now, I could.

Fenris was laughing, low and amused.  Hawke was sighing in an overly saccharine way, meant to be teasing.  But Donnic and I were married, all the same-

Or damn well close enough, anyway.

I finally drew back, my smile wide.  “There, no backing out now, Guardsman.”

“Whatever will you do with me?”  Donnic pretended to be faint, “Have your way with me, Guard Captain!”

Hawke sniggered and called out, “Did you get that, Varric?”

“I swear, Hawke,” I warned her.  “If you invited Varric…”

“I did nothing of the sort!”

“Chantry is a public building,” Varric feigned innocence as he emerged from the pew, where he’d been cleverly hidden due to his height.  “I wanted to see how you would behave at your own wedding.  For characterization purposes.”

“I’ll never forgive you,” I began, without conviction.

“Even after I’m springing for your wedding breakfast?”  Varric grinned, rakish as ever.

“We are not having our wedding breakfast at the Hanged Man!  Donnic’s mother has been baking for days…”

“And I’m paying her for everything,” Varric promised.  I narrowed my eyes.  “Don’t look like that, Aveline.”  He backed away, hands in the air.  “It’s all still at your house, I swear… everyone will be there, just the way you wanted it...”

Donnic laid a hand on my shoulder, “No harm done, love?”

I drooped, “You haven’t read the bloody story… love.”

He laughed again, low and throaty.  “Something to do on the journey, maybe?”

“Never.”  I turned back to Varric.  “All right then, Varric.”  I sounded resigned.  “Lead the way.”

Sebastian turned aside. “I’ll go and put these on Mother Elthina’s desk.”

“Aren’t you coming to breakfast?” Donnic asked, surprised.

“I…” Sebastian’s eyes tracked to Hawke, who watched him, warily from the top of the stairs.  “I wasn’t aware I was invited.”

“Of course you are,” Donnic shook his head, “You’re a friend of Aveline’s.  And mine, I hope.” 

Hawke spoke up, tacitly agreeing to the invitation, “We’ll see you in a half hour.  No later, or all the good stuff will be gone!  Donnic’s mother’s shortbread is a work of art.  You don’t want to be late.”

“I’d be honored,” Sebastian stammered, flushing.

“Good,” I answered, crisp and professional.  “I thank you for your assistance, Brother Vael.”

He swallowed, and nodded, eyes more confused than ever.

With that, Donnic and I led the way out of the Chantry, to the sounds of Varric’s teasing and Fenris’ firm footsteps.  “He shouldn’t have done it,” I told Donnic underneath my breath.  “He’s renounced his brotherhood.”

Donnic squeezed my arm, firmly.  “What harm is it, Aveline?  The Revered Mother will sign the license herself.  Who cares who heard the vows?”

I nodded, unsure, “You don’t feel like we’ve… cheated, or something?”

Donnic wrapped his arm around my waist instead.  “On the contrary.  I rather feel like I’ve won everything.”  He kissed my cheek.

I put it out of my mind then, in favor of enjoying our party, and didn’t think about it until our signed license arrived at the dock the next morning, ‘With the Revered Mother’s compliments’.

The signature looked authentic enough, and the date was right.  Probably Sebastian was right – the Maker didn’t care one way or another.

And Val Royeaux was wonderful.  As was Donnic.  In every single way.


	26. Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW of consent in a situation with unequal authority.

In the months after our marriage, Donnic seemed to revel in being openly affectionate with me – he didn’t care if it was at work or with our friends, or in the middle of the damn marketplace.  I couldn’t say I minded, either – it was a welcome change from the physical, if not emotional, distance that had marked my marriage to Wesley.

It was getting harder to remember a time without Donnic.  Having his nearly-constant approval made me bold, in more ways than one.

Possibly I was love-addled, given what I did with my newfound confidence.

“There are more Tranquil, I noticed.”  I’d been considering how to bring up the influx of the mages who had gone through the Rite now for a few weeks.  Subtlety had never been my strong point, nor diplomacy.  Working closely with Meredith these days required both – our relationship had never been so strained.

This was a woman who could have my best friend made Tranquil with nary a word.  I must have been insane.

Meredith, her eyes piercing, glanced up at me.  “Do you have something to say, Guard Captain?”

“Yes, actually,” I braced myself, the fuel already in the fire.  “If you’re having difficulties with your charges, I would suggest you look to your Templars.”

She leaned back.  “Who do you mean?”

“There are Tranquil in your courtyard saying they ‘belong’ to certain Templars.”  It was too late to back down now.  I could only advance.  “And I’ve heard those same Templars claim that Tranquil can’t say ‘no’.”  I didn’t remember Wesley ever telling me that Templars ‘owned’ Tranquil.  And I was fully aware Meredith had one she claimed was her ‘assistant’ – but that was a different thing.  Maybe.  The Knight-Commander’s sexual orientation wasn’t my business unless she made it so.

Meredith’s mouth twisted, “It’s not that they can’t.  It’s that they don’t see the point.”

My face was stony, “It makes no difference, when we’re talking about consent and authority, Knight-Commander.  Tranquil are still people, with autonomy.”

“Consent.  I see.”  Her eyes, for a single moment, seemed to flash red.  “I’ll look into these… claims.”  She leaned back over the paperwork I’d brought her, fingers templed.  They looked like the Chantry, with her bony knuckles on display.  “I seem to remember you are friends with the Champion?”

“We’ve known each other since the Blight.”

She pressed her lips together, thin and tight.  “I may have a job for her.  Would you deliver a letter to her?”  She handed an envelope to me, already sealed.  “It’s a request for her presence.”

“For what purpose?” I raised an eyebrow, “I’d hate for her to be… inconvenienced.  I rather believe she enjoys her soul where it is.”  I’d gone mad, a distant voice in my head claimed, rather accurately.

The woman barked a laugh, one completely devoid of humor.  “You think I’d have her rendered Tranquil and risk the whole city rising against me?”

“I hadn’t realized she was that popular.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, “What are her goals, do you know?”

I shrugged, my heart racing.  “I believe she is only trying to make a life for herself.  Run a few businesses.  Make the city better through her own hard work.”  I couldn’t stop myself, “Someone should.”

Meredith rose and stood looking out her window, down at the dirty water that surrounded the Gallows, gleaming a sick brownish-green in the muggy light.  “Would she consider working for me?”

I wanted to deny it, emphatically, but what little diplomacy I possessed came to the fore.  “I don’t know.”

“I’m talking about the throne of the Viscount, if that isn’t clear,” she turned back to me, eyes clever and calculating.   Once again, I saw the small flash of something unnatural and red in her eyes.  The fire was on the other side of the room – it wasn’t a reflection.  “The people need a presence in the Keep as much as I need an ally.”  She sat, chin up, jaw clenched.  “Your friend is aware that she is only free due to my patience?”

So it was to be blackmail, then, if bribery didn’t work?  I stayed silent.  Meredith stared me down, but I refused to give an inch, even while my heart marched doubletime.  The Knight-Commander wasn’t the only authority in the city.  In any other town in the Free Marches, we would have been on equal standing.  In any other city, however, the Revered Mother might have stepped in and curbed her Knight-Commander’s excesses…

Elthina was more of a fool than I was. 

Finally, she sniffed at my silence, and finished signing off on the reports, shoving them in my direction.  “Thank you,” I accepted them.  “Are we finished?”  She set the sealed missive on top of the small pile.

“Deliver that letter,” she ordered.  “And by all means, Guard Captain, return with Hawke.  I would love to explain to both of you what, precisely, is going on in the Gallows to press me to enforce the Rite so often.”  She waved her hand, and I left, dismissed and chafing at my assumed submission.

In the courtyard, I paused, looking at the Knight-Captain Cullen, where he stood guard.  He didn’t look well – eyes deep-set, with the foggy glaze of recent lyrium use that I remembered from Wesley’s doses.  I approached him, cautiously.  Lyrium use took some people differently than others, and the Order was well known to experiment with different compounds.  

“Knight-Captain Cullen.”

“Guard Captain,” he managed, when the light of recognition finally dawned in his eyes.  “Can I help you?”

I went right to the point.  This Knight-Captain, at least, didn’t believe in beating around the bush.  “Do you realize that Templars are having mages made Tranquil for their own pleasure?”  When Hawke realized, she would be down here screaming and threatening to set people on fire.  Better the first warning came from me.

I didn’t think he’d have her arrested.  Not if his Knight-Commander hadn’t ordered it.

“What?”  He recoiled.  “No, that can’t be true.  The Knight-Commander…”

“Meredith wields the brand liberally these days,” I nodded at one of the victims.  “With the flimsiest of excuses.”

Cullen pressed his lips together, squeezing out, with difficulty, “That mage was implicated with a tome of blood magic.  It was found in their room…”

“Which she managed to smuggle into the Circle, despite the new restrictions?  Convenient, don’t you think?  Considering that –“ I paused, knowing I needed to tread carefully, “a certain Templar found the tome?  The same Templar who she claims to ‘belong’ to?”

Alarm flashed across his face, “How did you…”

“Tranquil don’t lie, as a rule,” I glanced behind him, making sure no one could overhear us.  “My husband was a Templar, Knight-Captain.  I’m familiar with what the Order dictates - and demands – as well as what it doesn’t.  Kinloch wouldn’t have stood for this, for all its sins, and you can’t tell me any different.”

He looked sick and tormented.  “Have you mentioned this to the Knight-Commander?”

“I have.”  I sighed,  “With the results I expected.  She merely gave me a letter for Hawke, and suggested I tag along with her when she responds to the summons.”

Knight-Captain Cullen made a face, and it made him look his true age – younger than I.  “Hawke.”  I made a noise of assent, understanding the nature of their mutual distaste.  Cullen rubbed his neck, awkward.  “I’ll… look into it.”  He seemed unsure, but it was a better chance of true protection of his charges than I’d received from Meredith.  “The Knight-Commander doesn’t seem… well, lately.”  He said the last in a low breath.  “Have you… noticed?”

“I have,” I made my voice even.  If even a lyrium-muddled Knight-Captain noticed, it was worse than I thought.  “And I don’t want  _ anyone  _ to get hurt.  Do you understand?”

He straightened.  “Perfectly, Guard Captain.”

“Call me Aveline.”  I tried to smile.  “Do try to remember, Knight-Captain.  I’m on Kirkwall’s side.”  I turned to go.

“Aveline,” he stopped me.  “Your husband – the Templar - was he posted in Ferelden?”

“He was posted at Kinloch but traveled for the Order frequently.”

“Did he…” Cullen hesitated, “How did he die?”  His eyes were scared, beyond what I would have expected.

“Darkspawn caught us, on the way from Denerim,” I said, very quietly indeed.  “He was corrupted by the taint, and I gave him mercy.”

He closed his eyes too late for me to miss the flash of pain and relief, “He was fortunate.”

“Was he?” I tilted my head, “I spent enough time wishing I could have followed him.”  I eyed him, expecting that he understood.  “The urge passed.  I’ve made a new life here.”

Cullen nodded, and then straightened again.  “Perhaps it is belated, but I am sorry for your loss.”

“And I, yours.”  He looked confused, but I smiled, sad.  “You’re losing yourself, Knight-Captain.  Be careful, will you?  Lyrium… the Templars don’t tell you everything it takes from you.”  I nodded at the harbor, where the statues of slaves towered, weeping over the passage, massive links sunken below the murky water to be raised or lowered by the Viscount’s order.  “Those aren’t the only chains in the Gallows.  And I’m not just talking about the mages.”

His mouth worked, silently, but this time I didn’t turn back.  I walked out the gate, watching a mage that moved too close to the gate get shoved back inside by a group of Templar recruits just back from their day off.

It seemed to me that while mages’ souls were threatened with the lyrium brand, it seemed that Templars were guaranteed to lose theirs in the line of duty.  Lyrium would take everything from both – could there be no common ground?

The answer came to me while I waited.

There could be none.  Not while the Templars could choose their chains, and the mages couldn’t.

I looked out towards the city, as the ferry took me back to my barracks.  Back home, to the life that had taken the place of the one I had.  A better life, if I was being honest.

But after that conversation, I was glad, for the first time, that Wesley hadn’t lived so long as to lose his mind to his addiction.  He’d known me, at the end.  It helped.

Judging by both Knight-Commander and Knight-Captain, it was not an easy way to go.


	27. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter, and the last will be up today.
> 
> Keep in mind that after this comes the already completed fic, 'Long and Lonely Road', and then the finale, 'Demands of the Champion', where Hawke gets her happy ending. So for new readers, the fun doesn't have to stop! Those, however, are not from Aveline's POV.
> 
> Thank you all for coming along with me on this ride. I enjoyed writing with Aveline's voice far more than I thought, and I'm glad someone on twitter suggested it to me as an alternative to Varric's.
> 
> And now, I need to wrap this up, get back to my 'Avexis is the Inquisitor' AU, wrap THAT up, and then get a move on my Mass Effect story again.
> 
> As always, I have the best readers anywhere.

Life was busier than any of us would have liked, and all of us were plunged into maelstrom of political and religious maneuvering that we couldn’t dodge.  Meredith was furious about Hawke’s betrayal, as she saw it, and flatly refused to have anything else to do with her, while simultaneously making my own work a living hell, insisting on having her Templars test all our accused for magical abilities.  Our conversations became more and more sharp, and at least once I overheard her threatening her Knight-Captains to obey without question.

Cullen avoided me – literally walking away when I approached.  I was in so deep, trying to make sense of the madness, that it took Hawke a few weeks to pin me down, after she and Anders cornered Ser Karaas in a cavern beneath the Gallows.  Apparently, he and his friends would frame no more mages for blood magic.  Hawke was triumphant. “He’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”  

I couldn’t help but be relieved, if worried for my friends.  “Did you have to kill him, Hawke?”

“What, you wanted me to let him off with a stiff warning to quit assaulting his charges?”  Her affront was raw and real, “I thought of all people, you would understand, Aveline.”

“Of course I understand!  But this only draws more attention to…” My eyes drifted to her companion.  “You could have brought him to me.  I would have seen him tried…”

“Meredith would have intervened.  There’s no justice for mages in Kirkwall.”  She was right, but it was hard to let go of due process.  I detested vigilantism, perhaps more so when it was necessary.

Meredith had yet to openly order me to arrest Anders, but there were hints – constant hints – about the Darktown Healer, and what connection he had with Hawke.  My answers for her were plain and repetitive.  He was a Grey Warden.  He was a healer, not a blood mage, and detested the practice.  He wasn’t doing any harm, and was doing a great deal of good.  Hawke was his friend and associate, but she wasn’t a blood mage, either...  

Meredith didn’t call her the Champion any longer – the title was no longer useful to her purposes.

Hawke was trying not to use it, I suspected.  She didn’t feel like she was worthy, as the death toll mounted in the dark days before the final storm hit.  Mages went missing.  Templars were found dead in the caverns in the undercity.  My office was swamped with reports of blood mages in the least likely places, and Templars abusing their power.

And then Orsino sent her the letter.  Followed by yet another from Meredith.

She came to consult me, eyes shadowed with worry.  She stood, twisting her foot into the tile of my office floor as she waited for me to read them.

I set them both aside, without comment.

“Well?”

“They want you to pick a side.”  I picked up my next document.

“Aveline.”

“Haven’t you already?”  She shook her head.  “I won’t tell you what to do, Hawke, in this, or anything else.”  I met her eyes over my own correspondence.  “I’m with you, no matter what.  If you go and talk to Orsino, and think his arguments have merit, then you might save some innocent lives.  If you go and talk to Meredith and decide Orsino is full of druffalo shit-“ Her snort made me smile, despite the twisting in my guts.  Something was coming to a head, here, and I prayed I was on the right side of it.  “So be it.  You’re a grown woman.  And thank the Maker, you’re the Champion, not me.”  I turned back to my work.  “I have enough to do.”

She made a face, “I hate that title.”

“Would you prefer Lady Amell?”

“You kill one Arishok,” she teased, and then slumped down into my spare chair.  “Will you come with me?”

“Why?”

“Fenris will… not be happy.  You know how he is.  Anders will get… Justice-y.”

“That’s not a word.”

“It is now.”  She continued, “Merrill will have a million questions.  You know that Carver and I barely talk – what if I run into him?  And I don’t want to go alone.”

“Sebastian…”

“His Highness will take the Chantry’s side.”  Her voice was harsh.  “You know he will.”

“Hawke-“

She shook her head.  “I can’t understand him, lately.  He just… looks at me, like I’m tormenting him just by living.  If he’d say something, do something, go somewhere – anywhere but just sit in the Chantry like an armored albino toad in his hole, then I would know what to do.  But as it is-“  she put her elbows on my desk and buried her hands in her hair.  “I need a drink.”

“No.  You don’t.”  I sighed, deep.  “He’s just a man, Hawke.  Not a saint.”

“Tell him, not me.”  She looked at me, eyes glimmering.  “It’s the man I want.”

“Hmmm.”  My non-committal noise effectively ended the conversation.  “You want me to go with you to see Orsino.”

“Please.”

I stood up.  “Then we go now, before you can stew over it a second longer.”  I hesitated, “But let’s bring Anders.  He’s a hero to the Circle mages, you know.  Maybe he can talk Orsino down.  And send for Sebastian – we may need a voice of reason, if Elthina won’t intervene.”  I pursed my lips.  “No.  Send for everyone.  I have a bad feeling about this.  It’s best not to ignore it.  You might need the backup.”

Hawke hesitated, and then nodded.  “All right, Aveline.”  She rose as well.  “Let’s go fetch them, then.”

<SoM>

The scene we found was worse than anything either of us had feared.  Orsino and Meredith screaming at each other in the courtyard of the Gallows, Meredith with her sword half drawn, and threatening the Right of Annulment, while Orsino crackled with unseen power, only a harsh word and gesture away from attacking the Templar where she stood.

I had a sudden urge to lock them both in a room and let them fight it out, but instead I grabbed a Templar recruit – one I didn’t recognize.  “Go get the Revered Mother,” I ordered.  Sebastian’s presence wasn’t enough.  Elthina would be able to do something…

Hawke pulled Orsino aside, trying to break his focus on the Knight-Commander. “There has to be some sort of compromise,” she said, desperation in her words, eyes swinging nervously to her left…

I realized, too late, that she wasn’t worried about Meredith.  To her left, Anders – no, Justice – was glowing that eerie blue.  I had never realized before how much it looked like lyrium… the spirit shone through the cracks in his skin in a way that twisted my stomach.  “There can be no compromise!”  Justice intoned.  Behind us all, an eerie green glow illuminated the Chantry building, as if it was lit from behind.  The ground began to rumble, and shake.  I saw it all, in slow motion, half ton rock slabs rising in the air, floating in a magical whirlpool that tore the Chantry apart at the joints.

And then it exploded, in red, and everything sped up again.

Sebastian called out, “Mother Elthina!  NO!”

My eyes flashed with the colors.  I should run – there were Guards in Hightown.  They would need help – there might be survivors - but my legs wouldn’t move.  I hadn’t been frozen like this since Wesley…

“Donnic…” I whispered, my face paling.  Where had his patrol been scheduled for the day?  Was it Hightown or…  I shoved my emotions aside, but I couldn’t help gagging.

I couldn’t remember where my husband was.

“Anders, what have you done?”  I could barely hear Hawke over the cacophony of grating roars and screams echoing across the harbor.

“What I had to.”  Justice turned to her, and then Anders was back, tired and hollow in a way I’d never seen before – a death’s head version of himself.  As if he’d been devoured from the inside.

“You used me,” Hawke’s voice sounded like a whisper, over crashes of rubble and destruction.  Her face contorted, and I worried – for the first time in a long time – about her susceptibility to demons.  “What did you do?!”

“You said it yourself.  There is no justice for mages in Kirkwall.  Or in Thedas.”  Anders knelt on the pavement.  “I didn’t expect to survive this.  I did this for all of us, Hawke.”  His eyes closed, and when he opened them again, they weren’t glowing.  He slumped, defeated.  “Kill me.  Kill us both.”

And Hawke hesitated.  So did I.  I could blame it on the shock, but it would be a lie.  I… didn’t want to kill him.

But Sebastian broke in, ugly in his demands, “If you won’t kill him, I will!”

Hawke’s hand drifted to the dagger at her waist.   She stepped behind Anders.

I wanted to look away.  I couldn’t, and the blade disappeared into his back, all but hidden by the feathered coat.

Anders slumped to the pavement, a slow puddle of blood growing beneath him.  The knife dropped with a clatter, stained with yet more red.  Hawke backed away, horrified, and Merrill wailed.  Instead of placated, Sebastian’s face grew angrier.

Despite my familiarity with death, I couldn’t look away from Ander’s body, so fragile, in the end, for all his power, with no trace of his inner occupant now.  He looked… lesser.

It was a waste.  Tears prickled at my eyelids even while I spoke.  “We have to restore order,” my voice sounded odd, almost mechanical.  And no one was listening.

“This is what happens when mages run free,” Meredith hissed to Orsino, and drew her sword.

“I won’t let you kill us all!”  Orsino drew power into his hands.

But Hawke, looking older than I’d ever seen her, threw herself between them.  Her eyes looked as cold as ice, glaring at them both.  “Meredith,” she said, almost calmly.  “Stand down.”

“You’re going to side with him!?”  She gestured with her blood red sword… I stared at it, wondering… but it was impossible, wasn’t it? Varric’s breath sucked in, though, and I knew.

The red lyrium idol that had made Hawke’s fortune.  Meredith had bought it from Bartrand.  She’d had it worked, by who knows whom, and made into an unholy weapon.  I gagged.  It smelled like blood and lyrium… and death.

And she ordered her Templars to attack.

From there, it was chaos.  I remember Carver choosing to fight with his sister, and Hawke weeping with relief as she embraced him for the first time in years.  I remember Fenris’ hesitation, and then his declaration to remain at her side.  I remember the Knight-Captain turning on Meredith when she ordered the innocent mages killed.  I remember monstrous statues coming to life at Meredith’s commands, and slaughtering endless Templars with what I can only call magic.

It was surreal.  Almost as surreal as when Flemeth herself arrived and rescued us from the Blight.

And I remember Orsino succumbing, and turning into a monster himself, and dimly understanding who the ‘O’ was that communicated with Leandra’s killer when I looked at the true abomination that had always been in charge at the Circle.

I grieved for Anders’ dream, then, that it would be undermined by one not worthy of it.

I remember feeling like a failure as mages and Templars destroyed the city I was meant to protect and serve.

I have never felt so helpless as we fought our way through the other side, and I pray I never will again.  And I find I don’t want to write about it at all.

It happened, and then it was over, and Hawke stood before the Knight-Captain, her fate in his hands.


	28. Hide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Last Chapter.
> 
> This is hard to post.

“Go.”  The Knight-Captain’s words surprised us all.  “You have to leave Kirkwall.”

“You’re going to let me leave?”  Hawke had already drawn her staff to defend herself.

The night had taken its toll on the Knight-Captain.  He’d lost his helm somewhere in the fight against his superior, and his hair was wildly askew.  “I said go,” he ordered, more harshly.

I grabbed Hawke’s shoulder, pulling her to face me, and receiving a static shock for my trouble.  “You heard the Knight-Captain.”

“Why would he let me…”

I laughed, but it was a sob.  “Hawke, you’ve saved the city a dozen times over.  You’re the Champion still, whether you like it or not.  But tonight’s events will draw the attention of the Chantry.  Of the Divine.”  I swallowed, “We’re looking down the barrel of an Exalted March on Kirkwall, unless you get the hell out of here.”

Her eyes tracked through her companions.  “What will happen to…”

“I’ll go with you,” Fenris rumbled.  “There’s no place safe here.”

“I’ll watch over Merrill, and your brother,” I told her.  “Just… leave.”  I pushed her towards the docks, and she stumbled, our friends following her like lost ducklings, even Sebastian, who seemed to be propelled along by his own grief, glaring at Hawke as if she had ruined his life.

Perhaps she had.  But there was no going back to the Chantry for him now.  His decision was made for him, once and for all.  He had to learn to live with it.

The ferryman was missing, so Fenris, Carver, and I rowed us over to the docks.  With luck, there would be a ship… and yes, with a glance I saw that Bran had neglected to lower the chains when disaster struck.  There were several ships preparing to sail, and most people were still too stunned to think of leaving their homes just yet.  It wasn’t too late to get Hawke the hell out.  I thrust a coin purse at Hawke, and Varric hugged her, and stepped back, as did Merrill.

Our places were here.  Mine with the Guard, Varric with the Merchant’s Guild and his network, and Merrill with the Alienage.  Sebastian hesitated, looking at where the Chantry no longer dominated the city’s skyline, but walked over to a ship’s captain, who announced he was sailing for Ostwick at his low question.  Hawke’s eyes followed him, but she turned towards a captain with a Fereldan accent instead, booking her passage with a few short words and a clink of coin.

I didn’t have time or energy to spare in grieving for their losses.  I still didn’t know where my husband was.

But I approached Hawke and hugged her like I had after her mother’s death, and she buried her face in my armor.  She shook, but there were no tears this time.  “You’ll be fine,” I whispered, like a benediction.  “Write to me.  I’ll help when I can.  However I can.  Just stay hidden.”

She looked up, but her eyes were on Sebastian now, who was very carefully not looking at her while he paid for his own passage.  “I… I’ll let you know where I end up.”

“I suspect you’ll be on the move for a while,” I allowed.  “Be safe, Hawke.”

She laughed, and finally the tears welled in her eyes, “Yes, Mother.”

I laughed with her, and she backed away, waving.  “Good-bye, Kirkwall.”

And I turned on my heel, jogging past her ridiculous statue, resisting the urge to kick the pedestal as I passed.

Hawke often did it.  I had also caught her drawing a moustache and monocle on it, and dressing it up for holidays.  Perhaps Varric and I could keep up the tradition… I felt the tears coming again, and I moved faster, to keep them back.

I counted Guards as I moved through the city – my people already assisting the displaced and injured, I’m proud to say.  Just as if I’d been there to give them the orders.

I found Donnic moving rocks with a few Templars, trying to get to a door in Lowtown that had screaming coming from behind it.  I touched his shoulder, long enough to see the relief on his face, and then turned back to work at his side.  It was where I belonged.

We worked for days, moving rubble and burning bodies.  I could hear Transfigurations in my sleep.  The weather turned, and rain washed the streets of Lowtown clean of ash and mud, but the smell lingered for months after.  We still thought we were free of the worst of it.

And then the ground in Hightown started to cave in with the weight of the largest Chantry stones.  My focus turned towards the displaced of Darktown, housing them in Fenris’ old mansion, and other abandoned buildings around the city.  People left in droves – for anywhere that they could.  But I stayed.  My Guards stayed – though some sent their families elsewhere first.  Merrill organized the Alienage – their distance from the Chantry meant they were impacted the least of anyone.  I worked with Knight-Captain Cullen, who I suspected never slept at all.  Even Varric took up collections for the widowed and orphaned, slipping random envelopes onto my desk, figuring that I’d know where the money was needed most urgently.

And then I got a letter.

It was on strange paper – thinner than I was used to using.  Orlesian, I thought.

_ Dear ‘Mother’, _

_ We’re safe-ish, for the moment.  Fenris decided to disembark in Nevarra and make the lives of the slavers that work the borders of Tevinter a living Void.  I almost feel sorry for them.  So I’m on my own, for the moment.  It’s better that way. _

_ I’ve written to Varric as well – I’ve told him where I am – generally - and where I’m headed - roughly.  I hope you understand if I don’t offer you the same courtesy.  I’m moving around a lot.  There are already a lot of wanted posters hanging around with the Divine’s emblem on them with someone who looks a bit like me.  I’ve changed my appearance as much as I can, but there’s only so much I can do with these stunning good looks, short of having someone break my nose for me. _

_ You told me to help however you could, and so I have a few favors to ask – could you take Carver into the Guard?  I think you’ll find him more biddable now, and I doubt the Knight-Captain wants my brother watching mages.  And… could you tell me if anyone saw to Anders’ pyre?  I don’t want to think of him adrift in the Fade.  Silly, I suppose, as he wasn’t a believer, but… _

_ Nevermind.  He wouldn’t have wanted that. _

_ I’ll write again, when there is time.  We’ve only docked here overnight, and I need to get back to the ship.  I can’t say I think much of Orlais, but I’m not stopping here, in any case. _

_ If someone particular writes and asks about me… well, tell him whatever you like.  I wonder if Starkhaven is wet this time of year?  What am I saying, Starkhaven is wet year-round.  I wish him joy of it.  I’m going nowhere near the bloody place.  At least Orlais has sun.  You should see how pink I’m getting. _

_ Your friend, _

_ Hawke _

_ P.S. Why didn’t you tell me about the cheeses in Orlais!  How could you keep that to yourself?  I’ll never forgive you.  And the whisky!  I swear I drank an entire jug last night alone.  So incredibly smooth. _

_ P.P.S. Tell Varric he owes me 5 gold.  He knows, but I want you to tell me what he looks like when you remind him. _

As always, Hawke left me wanting to laugh, and cry at the same time.  I buried my face in my hands, unsure which emotion to give into, in my fatigue.

It hadn’t escaped my notice that she was heading in the opposite direction of Starkhaven.  She was in hiding, deluding herself as well as all her friends, except perhaps Varric.  I rubbed my face, too tired to try to comprehend more.  Hawke wasn’t easy to understand even when I was fully rested.

With his usual impeccable timing, Donnic popped his head in and smiled when he caught my eye.  “Care for a cuppa, love?”

“If you’re making it.”  Hawke would be fine.  And in the meantime, I would save her city for her.  I rose, regally.  “I’ll even join you in the dining hall.”

Donnic pretended to recoil.  “You’re actually leaving your desk?  I thought your ass had taken root, after all this time.”  I rolled my eyes but didn’t protest when he stooped to kiss me.  “Hawke is well?”  He nodded at the letter.

“As well as can be expected, running from the Chantry and herself.”  I rolled my shoulders.  “Now, how about that tea, Guardsman?”

“Right away, Guard-Captain, Serah.”  He saluted.  “I should warn you; Knight-Captain Cullen will be joining us.”

I nodded.  “Good.  He needs the break, and we need to coordinate recovery better.”  I marched to the dining room.  “Knight-Captain.”  My fatigue made me blunt, taking in his hollowed eyes and gaunt cheeks.  “You look like shit.”

“So do you,” he fired back without thinking, and biting his cheek and flushing when he realized what he’d said.  “I apologize.”

“No offense taken.  You only speak the truth.”  I eyed him.  “What news?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.  “I’ve had missives from the Chantry.  They’re sending… someone.  They wouldn’t say who.”

“Sounds like the Chantry,” I sat down, and Donnic slid mugs to both of us.  Cullen murmured thanks.  “Before you ask, I don’t know where Hawke is.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”  His lip was torn, and he winced as it tried to turn up, and resplit under the hot liquid.  “Her disappearance is on my head, not yours.”

I nodded at the injury.  “Has anyone seen to that?”

“There are others far worse off.”  He blew off my concern.  “It’s not infected.”  He stared into his mug.  His hands shook.

“How is the Templars’ lyrium supply?  Without the Chantry to disperse it…”

He glanced at me, alarmed, but his shoulders slumped, “We’ve enough… for now.  We’re… using a few back channels that the Chantry likes to pretend don’t exist.”

“Good,” I stared at him, until he straightened.  “That’s better.  The way I see it, you’re the senior officer at the Gallows.”

He nodded, wordless.

“You’re Acting Knight-Commander, then,” I was crisp and efficient.  “We’re going to be working very closely, Knight-Commander.”

“Acting.”

“How do you think I got my job?”  He looked stunned, a little desperate, but I just grinned, and leaned in.  “I’m sure it’s merely a formality.  Now, onto other business, how is your working relationship with Bran?”

“No.  Just no,” He groaned, and I laughed, lifting my cup. 

“To a hard day’s work?”

“To work,” he lifted his own, ruefully, and we both drank, as if it was something much stronger.

It was, at least, a place to start.


End file.
